THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


u 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


^mm.> 


M 


.-V  J\--'i'  ,."1 


m 


Gilbert  St.  Maurice 


BY 


Mrs.  L.  D.  WHITSON. 


PUBLISHED  FOR   THE  AUTHOR. 


•  LOUISVILLE  : 

BRADLEY  &  GILBERT,  PRINTERS. 
1876. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874,  by 

MRS.  L.  D.  WHITSON, 

In  the  ofBce  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C, 


PREFACE. 

Within  the  chambers  of  our  mind  there  has  for  years  lain 
a  half-defined  purpose  of  some  day  committing  to  print  some 
of  the  leading  incidents  of  the   late  war  which  came  under 
our  own    personal   observation,    which    only   had   a  passing 
newspaper  notice,  read  for  a  time,  perhaps,  and  then  thrown 
away  and  forgotten.     Murfreesboro,  which  was  the  theater  of 
many  thrilling  incidents,  changed  hands  several  times  during 
the  war.     Her  fidelity  to  the  South,    her  almost  spotless  es- 
cutcheon, stand  within  the  memory  of  all  unrivaled ;  her  citi- 
zens were  true  to  the  cause  with  but  few  exceptions.    So  were 
her  soldiers,  whose  names  shine   out  like  brilliant  stars  amid 
the  dusk  of  defeat.     And  why  should  not  a  living,  breathing, 
burning  pen  trace  in  letters  of  fire,  how  these — 
"Hearts  of  oak 
Went  'mid  roar  and  smoke 
On  to  victory?" 
The  stately  heroism,  the  Spartan-like  firmness,  the  stubborn 
courage    that    endured    to    the   bitter    end,  of  Tom  Fowler, 
Hardy  Murfee,  James  Oslin,  Charley  Felts^  Ed.  Arnold,  and 
hundreds  of  others  who,  although   their  names  are  not  men- 
tioned here,  are  none  the  less  worthy,  commands  respect  where- 
ever  they  go.    Why  not  twine  a  wreath  of  immortelles  around 
the  gallant  heads  of  Generals  J.  B.  Palmer,  John  C.  Brown, 
Frank  Cheatham,  and  many,  many  others  in  whose  courage 
there  was  something  almost  sublime  ?    We  want  to  do  honor 
to  the  old  Southern  soldier  everywhere  who  endured  to  the 
end.     It  was  an  army  of  war-worn,  battered  heroes,  who  had 
trod  with  bare,  bleeding  feet  the  frozen  hills  of  East  Tennes- 
see— on    the    long,  hard,    forced    marches    everywhere— that 
came  back  to  us  in  the    spring-time    of  1865,  with  "all  lost 
save  honor."     Far  above  the  din  and  smoke  and  heat  of  bat- 

603313 


IV  PREFACE. 

tie  the  voices  of  these  men  were  heard  as  they  cheered  their 
soldiers  on  to  victory,  and  drove  impetuously  everything  be- 
fore them. 

There  are  those  of  our  friends  who  have  said  to  us:  "  Why 
not  *  let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead  ?  '  "  We  cannot — we  have 
no  wish  to — forget ;  and  if  there  be  any  sin  in  hating,  let  it 
lie  at  our  own  door.  Is  it  any  wonder  we  cannot  clasp  hands 
in  fraternal  greeting  over  the  rivers  of  blood  that  have  rolled 
between  us — when  the  mutilated  forms  of  our  murdered  he- 
roes rise  before  us — when  we  remember  the  blazing  towns  and 
villages  that  marked  the  pathway  of  the  Yankee  army 
throughout  the  South ;  the  negro  soldier  arrayed  in  the  nar 
tional  uniform  of  blue,  and  marching  under  the  "stars  and 
stripes,"  and  prompted  and  incited  to,  and  protected  in,  every 
deed  of  diabolism  that  the  mind  of  man  could  invent  ? 

In  our  book  we  have  only  written  of  events  and  incidents 
as  they  occurred,  and  have  adhered  strictly  to  the  truth  in  the 
statement  of  facts.  Gilbert  St.  Maurice  is  no  fictitious  char- 
acter, painted  for  the  amusement  of  an  idle  hour,  but  he 
lived  his  life,  and  died  just  as  described. 

The  defeat  of  the  South  will  always  be  to  some  of  us  a  sore 
point ;  and  if  what  we  have  written  here  offend  anyone,  let 
them  help  themselves  as  best  they  may ;  and  we  will  console 
ourselves  with  the  quotation  : 

"There's  many  a  shaft  at  random  sent, 
Which  finds  the  mark  the  archer  never  meant ;" 

And  wherever  it  does  find  its  mark,  we  do  not  care.  So, 
with  no  apologies  to  anyone  for  what  we  have  written,  we 
send  it  forth  to  its  fate,  be  it  "good,  bad  or  indifferent,"  re- 
membering that  had  it  not  been  for  the  desertion  of  the  sol- 
diers, and  the  faithlessness  of  the  citizens,  the  Southern  flag 
would  be  floating  in  triumph  to-day! 


TO    THE 

OLD  ARMY  OF  THE  SOUTH, 

Who,   for  four  long  years,   bore  the  blood-red  battle 

flag  aloft  in  so  many  brilliant  encounters, 

this  volume  is  respectfully  inscribed 

by  the  Authoress. 

MuBFREESBORo,  Tenn.,  May  1,  1874. 


IV  PREFACE. 

tie  the  voices  of  these  men  were  heard  as  they  cheered  their 
soldiers  on  to  victory,  and  drove  impetuously  everything  be* 
fore  them. 

There  are  those  of  our  friends  who  have  said  to  us :  "  Why 
not  '  let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead  ?  '  "  We  cannot — we  have 
no  wish  to — forget ;  and  if  there  be  any  sin  in  hating,  let  it 
lie  at  our  own  door.  Is  it  any  wonder  we  cannot  clasp  hands 
in  fraternal  greeting  over  the  rivers  of  blood  that  have  rolled 
between  us — when  the  mutilated  forms  of  our  murdered  he- 
roes rise  before  us — when  we  remember  the  blazing  towns  and 
villages  that  marked  the  pathway  of  the  Yankee  army 
throughout  the  South ;  the  negro  soldier  arrayed  in  the  nar 
tional  uniform  of  blue,  and  marching  under  the  "stars  and 
stripes,"  and  prompted  and  incited  to,  and  protected  in,  every 
deed  of  diabolism  that  the  mind  of  man  could  invent  ? 

In  our  book  we  have  only  written  of  events  and  incidents 
as  they  occurred,  and  have  adhered  strictly  to  the  truth  in  the 
statement  of  facts.  Gilbert  St.  Maurice  is  no  fictitious  char- 
acter, painted  for  the  amusement  of  an  idle  hour,  but  he 
lived  his  life,  and  died  just  as  described. 

The  defeat  of  the  South  will  always  be  to  some  of  us  a  sore 
point ;  and  if  what  we  have  written  here  offend  anyone,  let 
them  help  themselves  as  best  they  may ;  and  we  will  console 
ourselves  with  the  quotation  : 

"There's  many  a  shaft  at  random  sent, 
Which  finds  the  mark  the  archer  never  meant ;" 

And  wherever  it  does  find  its  mark,  we  do  not  care.  So, 
with  no  apologies  to  anyone  for  what  we  have  written,  we 
send  it  forth  to  its  fate,  be  it  "good,  bad  or  indifferent,"  re- 
membering that  had  it  not  been  for  the  desertion  of  the  sol- 
diers, and  the  faithlessness  of  the  citizens,  the  Southern  flag 
would  be  floating  in  triumph  to-day  ! 


OLD  ARMY  OF  THE  SOUTH, 

Who,   for  four  long  years,   bore  the  blood-red  battle 

flag  aloft  in  so  many  brilliant  encounters, 

this  volume  is  respectfully  inscribed 

by  the  Authoress. 

Mi'RFREESBORO,  Tenn.,  May  1,  1874. 


CONTENTS, 


Page. 

CHAPTER  I.— Old  Memories i 

CHAPTER  II.— The  St.  Maurice  Family 5 

CHAPTER  III.— The  Party 12 

CHAPTER  IV.— Major  Hart  is  opposed  to  his  daughter 
marrying  a  Secessionist:  also  opposes  his  son  in  joining 

the  Confederate  army ^^ 

CHAPTER  v.— Gilbert  St.  Maurice  visits  his  betrothed 

in  her  own  home 33 

CHAPTER  VI.— St.  Maurice  goes  to  Virginia 41 

CHAPTER  VII.— Victor  visits  his  mother,  and  receives 

her  blessing 55 

CHAPTER  VIII.— Extract  from  a  letter  from  Virginia  .  63 
CHAPTER  IX. — St.  Maurice  is  taken  prisoner  ....  70 
CHAPTER   X.— Victor   and   St.    Maurice  transferred  to 

Middle  Tennessee 75 

CHAPTER  XL— Bravery  of  Col.  Lawton  and  his  gallant 

Georgians ^4 

CHAPTER  XII. — Private  citizens  held  as  hostages  ...  89 
CHAPTER  XIII. —The    entrance    of  Nelson's    Division 

into   Murfr^esboro 100 

CHAPTER  XIV.— The  merry  fall  of  1862 106 

CHAPTER  XV.— The  battle  of  Stone's  River 116 

CHAPTER   XVI.— Important    desertion   of  a  telegraph 

operator 126 

CHAPTER  XVII.— Home  life  of  Marion  Hart 137 

CHAPITER  XVIIL— Death  of  St.  Maurice 145 


VIII  CONTENTS. 

Page. 
CHAFFER  XIX.— Colonel  St.  Maurice  and  his  wife  .    .  157 

CHAPTER  XX. — Major  Hart  repents  of  his  Unionism  .  165 

CHAPTER  XXL— Captain   Buckingham 175 

CHAPTER  XXII.— Citizens  on  the  forts 187 

CHAPTER  XXIII. — Southern   housekeeping   before  the 

war 198 

CHAPTER  XXIV. — Yankee    troops    camping   on  Major 

Hart's  plantation 209 

CHAPTER  XXV.— A  Yankee  citizen  comes  south  for  the 

body  of  his  brother 223 

CHAPTER  XXVI.— Curious  death  bed  scene 229 

CHAPTER  XXVII.— Conclusion 239 

BRENDA  MERTON 247 


Gilbert  St.  Maurice. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  BATTLE.      OLD    MEMORIES. 

The  wind  goes  sobbing  down  the  glen, 
The  dismal,  dripping  rain  and  sleet 

We  hear  with  many  a  wailing  moan, 
Go  pattering  on  their  misty  feet, 

And  sweeping  last  year's  withered  leaves 
Far  up  the  long  deserted  street. 

I  shiver  with  a  vague  unrest, 
I  sicken  with  a  nameless  dread. 

For,  oh !  this  dismal  rain  and  sleet 
Is  beating  on  thy  darling  head, 

And  this  wild,  sobbing  winter  wind 
Is  moaning  o'er  thy  lov/ly  bed, 

I  see  again  the  fervid  noon, 

The  fierce  rays  of  the  July  sun. 

The  tramping  of  ten  thousand  men. 
The  thundering  crash  of  many  a  gun. 

The  fierce  charge  up  the  reeking  hill ! 
And  then — my  life  with  thine  is  done. 


The  last  act  in  the'^'reat  Drama  of  Life 
had  been  played, 

A  battle  had  been  lost  and  won:  two 
homes    had   been    made   desolate,  and   a 


2  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE, 

cloud  passed  ovor  the  noon-day  sun,  as  the 
fatal  bullet,  which  sped  on  its  work  of  de- 
struction but  too  well,  forever  stilled  the 
brave  young  heart  of  Lieutenant  Gilbert 
St.  Maurice. 

Dead,  in  the  matchless  bloom  of  man- 
hood !  the  last  son  of  an  ancient  and  hon- 
orable family.  Forever  closed  the  eagle 
eyes  that  had  never  failed  in  the  fiercest 
heat  of  battle,  while  the  victor's  smile  still 
wreathed  the  full,  red  lips ! 

Dead,  in  his  grand,  heroic  beauty !  with 
his  fair,  proud,  aristocratic  face  upturned 
to  the  sun,  'neath  the  heat  and  glare  of 
a  burning  Georgia  sky,  on  that  hot  after- 
noon in  July! 

The  silver  cord  was  loosed,  the  golden 
bowl  was  broken,  and  the  spirit  had  re- 
turned unto  the  God  who  gave  it. 

Dead — he  was  immortal !  (1   N 

m 

Night  at  last  closed  over  the  battle-field, 
and    the    weary   soldiers    rested   on   their  v^ 
arms.     All  the  day  long,  from  early  morn   |q|} 
till    the    shadows  of  evening   lengthened 


A    BATTLE.        OLD    MEMORIES.  3 

over  the  bloody  field,  there  had  been  heard 
the  never-ceasing  roll  of  the  cannon  and 
the  burstinof  of  shells,  and  the  screams  of 
the  wounded  and  dying  filled  the  atmos- 
phere, where  grim-visaged  war  held  high 
revel  in  that  Carnival  of  Death. 

Ah,  Heaven !  it  was  a  sad  sight. 

Well  might  a  nation  weep  tears  of  blood, 
and  bemoan  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  the 
ghastly  scene  that  everywhere  met  the 
eyes.  The  moon  cast  an  uncertain  and 
flickering  light  over  the  dew  wet,  pallid 
faces  of  the  dead — noble  sacrifices  for  their 
country's  weal  and  their  country's  honor. 


Old  soldiers  of  the  Army  of  the  South ! 
Heroes  of  a  Lost  Cause  i  In  your  name- 
less graves  to-night,  scattered  from  the 
Potomac  to  the  Rio  Grande,  \yhite  with  the 
snows  of  1874,  with  your  pale  cold  hands 
folded  over  your  pulseless  hearts,  we  honor 
you  nozu,  as  we  honored  you  then !  The 
sound  of  the  bugle  brings  back  to  us  all 
the  old  enthusiasm  of  long  ago. 


GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 


Gallant  officers  and  soldiers !  Superb  In 
your  tout  e^isemble,  with  scarlet  and  buff 
facings,  gold  braid,  long  gauntlets,  fancy 
top  boots,  and  the  bold,  self-confident  step 
of  the  Confederate  soldier  of  the  days 
long  dead — alas  !  now  a  dream  of  the  past. 
How  we  love  to  think  of  you  even  now, 
although  so  many  summers  have  come  and 
gone  since  you  have  done  with  ''life's  fit- 
ful fever." 


What  shall  we  say  to  those  who  helped 
to  bring  darkness  and  death  and  defeat 
on  the  once  proud  and  happy  Land  of  the 
South?  To  those  who  rushed  frantically 
forward,  as  the  first  long  line  of  Federal 
bayonets  gleamed  like  silver  in  the  sun- 
light, and  vohmtarily  took  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance to  the  United  States  Government, 
with  the  avowed  intention  to  "save  their 
property  ?"  May  the  shadow  of  an  aveng- 
ing Nemesis  pursue  them  relentlessly  unto 
death ! 


T!IK    ^T.    MAIRICK    FAMILY.  5 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  ST.  MAURICE  FAMILY. 

The  early  May  sunlight  lingered  pleas- 
antly amid  the  flowers  and  shrubbery  that 
surrounded  the  stately  old  homestead  of 
the  St.  Maurices.  And  very  fair  and  beau- 
tiful it  looked  in  the  spring-time  of  that 
goodly  year,  1861.  The  odors  of  the  flow- 
ers, the  sweet  songs  of  the  birds  that  flit- 
ted hither  and  thither  through  the  trees, 
the  golden  patches  of  sunshine,  and  the 
deep,  cool  shadows,  made  it  seem  an  earth- 
ly paradise. 

But  where  has  there  ever  existed  a  par- 
adise that  the  serpent  has  entered  not? 
His  shining  folds  lie  hidden  from  sight 
under  the  petals  of  the  roses.  Where  has 
there  ever  existed  a  home  that  some  skel- 
eton has  not  grinned  horribly,  and  shook 
his  long,  bony  finger  menacingly  from  the 
cupboard  ? 

The  St.  Maurices  were  one  of  the  oldest 


O  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

and  most  aristocratic  families  of  South 
Carolina.  It  was  their  proud  boast  that 
the  blood  which  flowed  in  their  veins  had 
never  mingled  with  any  save  of  a  stain  as 
rich  and  as  old  as  their  own.  And  it  sore- 
ly hurt  them  for  one  of  the  ''  coarser  clay  " 
to  come  in  contact  with  their  "  ermined 
pride." 

The  old  homestead,  which,  by  right  of 
inheritance,  had  descended  for  generations 
back  to  the  eldest  son,  stood  a  fair  and 
venerable  pile,  amidst  its  wealth  of  flowers 
and  statuary  and  fountains,  and  all  that 
artistic  taste  could  invent  to  render  a  home 
attractive  and  lovely.  Within  the  length 
and  breadth  of  South  Carolina  there  was 
no  more  urbane  and  polished  gentleman, 
with  courtly  manners,  than  Col.  St.  Mau- 
rice. He  and  his  yet  handsome  wife  en- 
tertained with  princely  hospitality,  and  in 
the  neighborhood  in  which  they  lived  it 
was  considered  quite  a  feather  in  one's 
cap,  socially,  to  have  received  one  of  those 
square,  thick,  satiny,  cream-colored  envel- 
opes, containing  an  invitation  to  assemble 
at  their  house,  on  any  stated  occasion ;  for 


THE    ST.    MAURICE    FAMILY.  / 

in  their  home  you  would  be  sure  to  meet 
the  most  distinguished  people  in  the  State. 
Unbounded  wealth  had  always  been  theirs, 
added  to  a  refined,  cultivated  taste.  As 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  wide  ex- 
panse of  rice  fields  was  covered  with  dusky 
forms,  that  came  and  went  at  their  bidding. 
The  lands  of  the  St.  Maurices  had  never 
changed  hands.  And  now,  w^hile  we  write, 
preparations  were  going  on  In  the  house 
for  a  grand  festival.  The  pride  of  the 
house,  the  light  of  the  father's  and  mother's 
eye,  the  only  heir  to  that  princely  estate, 
had  only  a  few  days  since  arrived  at  home 
after  a  prolonged  absence  in  the  Old 
World— Gilbert  St.  Maurice. 

He  was  all  that  his  proud  parents  could 
desire ;  well  educated,  polished  and  re- 
fined even  to  fastidiousness ;  the  heart  had 
been  cultivated  as  well  as  the  mind ;  and 
in  all  his  travels  and  sight-seelngs  on  the 
other  continent,  amid  the  ten  thousand 
temptations  which  beset  a  gay  and  hand- 
some young  man,  of  aristocratic  birth  and 
fortune,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  enjoy 
himself,    Gilbert  St.    Maurice    had    never 


5  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE, 

yielded  to  temptation,  but  preserved  un- 
tarnished the  ancient  dignity  of  the  old, 
proud  race  from  whence  he  had  sprung, 
and  returned  home  as  pure  and  unsullied 
as  on  the  day  that  he  bid  a  final  adieu  to 
his  Alma  Mater  and  left  his  loved  ones  at 
home.  On  that  fair  and  handsome  brow 
there  was  no  signet  of  dissipation,  and  the 
eye  was  as  bright  and  sparkling  as  in  the 
days  of  his  fresh  young  boyhood.  Tall 
and  splendidly  proportioned,  with  grace  in 
his  every  movement,  he  might  well  have 
belonged  to  some  prince  of  royal  blood. 
Nature  had  set  on  him  the  true  stamp  of 
nobility.  He  was  one  of  those  rare  and 
noble  characters  you  might  meet  with  but 
few  times  in  course  of  a  life-time.  From 
his  earliest  boyhood  he  had  abhorred  false- 
hood, equivocation,  deception.  One  of  the 
most  admirable  traits  of  his  character  was 
the  almost  profound  reverence  and  dis- 
tinguished courtesy  with  which  he  treated 
his  parents. 

The  very  highest  compliment  that  can 
be  paid  to  a  man-  is  to  say  he  is  a  gentle- 
man at  home,  around  his  own  hearthstone. 


THE    ST.    MAURICE    FAMILV 


He  was  a  man  of  striking  individuality. 

As  we  have  said,  Gilbert  St.  Maurice 
never  equivocated,  never  indulged  in  mys- 
teries, but  drove  straight  to  the  point  on 
any  and  all  occasions.  Yet  sometimes  his 
polished  shafts  of  wit  and  satire  cut  keen 
and  glittering  as  a  blade  from  Damascus. 

Such  characters  win,  nay  command,  re- 
spect, be  they  where  and  with  whom  they 
may.  There  is  a  loftiness  of  purpose,  a 
strength  of  will,  a  self-consciousness  oi 
power,  or  you  may  have  it,  an  inborn  su- 
periority of  character,  that  have  always 
ru/ed  weaker  minds,  and  made  them  pliant 
as  wax  in  your  hands. 

The  return  of  Gilbert  St.  Maurice  had 
been  sudden.  He  had  come  from  abroad 
because  of  the  "cloud  no  bigger  than  a 
man's  hand"  that  had  been  gathering  in 
size  and  strength  for  years,  until  it  loomed 
up  black  and  threatening  before  us,  and 
nearly  obscured  every  ray  of  sunlight  from 
our  sky. 

Sumter  had  fallen,  war  was  proclaimed, 
and  the  whole  South  was  rushing  to  arms 
in  a  blaze  of  enthusiasm.     On  the  other 


lO  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

border,  the  immense  hordes  of  the  North 
were  banding  together  and  preparing  to 
extinguish  the  South  at  one  fell  swoop. 

The  heart  of  the  noble  young  man 
bounded  high  within  him,  and  he  longed 
to  throw  himself  into  battle  and  be  fore- 
most in  the  fray. 

His  father  was  an  orio-inal  secessionist, 
and  had  been  nursing  his  wrath  for  years 
against  the  abolitionists  of  the  North,  and 
now  it  has  grown  into  a  ''holy,  righteous 
hatred,"  and  fiery-hearted  as  he  was,  he 
had  thrown  himself  heart  and  soul  into  the 
seething  cauldron  of  the  rebellion.  Col. 
St.  Maurice  thought  of  nothing  else,  talked 
of  nothing  else,  but  the  great  cloud  that 
had  darkened  our  Southern  sky.  He  was 
ready  to  gird  on  his  son's  armor,  fond  and 
proud  of  him  as  he  had  every  right  to  be, 
and  to  bless  him  and  bid  him  go  forth  to 
the  good  fight. 

Ah!  little  thought  he  that  the  time 
would  ever  come  when  that  magnificent 
structure,  generations  old,  and  the  espe- 
cial pride  of  a  haughty  race,  would  be  laid 
low  in  the  dust,  and  help  to  light  the  blaz- 


THE    ST.    MAURICE    FAMILY.  II 

Ing  pathway  of  Sherman  in  his  "  March  to 
the  Sea,"  and  he  himself  in  his  old  age  be 
an  outcast  and  a  wanderer,  homeless  and 
uncared  for,  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Ah  !  well  that  a  merciful  Providence  veils 
the  '*  shadows  of  coming  events  "  from  our 
sight. 


12  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE, 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE    PARTY. 

The  cre77te  de  la  cre77ie  for  miles  around 
had  assembled  to  welcome  home,  after  his 
long  absence,  the  son  and  heir,  and  also  to 
partake  of  the  famed  hospitality  of  the  St. 
Maurices.  The  fairest  and  most  beautiful 
of  South  Carolina's  lovely  daughters  were 
there,  in  costly  robes  of  sweeping  satin, 
and  the  flashing  of  diamonds  and  the 
shimmer  of  pearls  lent  an  almost  regal 
air  to  the  occasion.  And  many  a  cheek 
blushed  crimson  beneath  the  passion- 
ate glances  bestowed  upon  them.  Pol- 
iticians, too,  had  gathered  in  knots,  and 
discussed,  with  scowling  brows,  the  present 
issue ;  for  there  were  not  a  few,  even  in 
hot-headed  South  Carolina,  who  yet  cher- 
ished some  lingering  remains  of  love  for 
the  old  Union  as  it  was. 

However,  all  went  "merry  as  a  mar- 
riage bell."  Champagne  flowed  freely,  and 


THE    PARTY. 


the  laughter  and  the  jest  and  the  song  went 
on  into  the  *'wee  sma'  hours  ayant  the 
twa'." 

The  whole  house  was  a  blaze  of  light 
from  top  to  bottom.  The  window-sills 
were  filled  with  the  rarest  exotics ;  the 
misty  lace  curtains  looped  back,  the  de- 
licious breezes  of  May  swept  through  the 
low,  wide  windows,  steeped  with  the  per- 
fume of  the  roses  and  the  honeysuckle,  that 
lingered  around  one  like  the  melody  of 
some  half-forgotten  song  that  one  had 
heard  in  a  dream. 

Later  in  the  evening  the  moon  rose  in 
unclouded  splendor,  and  lighted  up  the 
whole  beautiful  scene.  How  the  roses 
glowed  and  burned  with  a  deeper  red,  and 
the  waters  of  the  fountain  sparkled  in  the 
moonlight,  and  the  spray  glistened  like 
diamonds. 

Could  it  be  that  war  was  so  soon  to 
devastate  and  depopulate  the  fairest  land 
that  the  sun  ever  shown  upon  ?  that  the 
song  and  the  dance  was  to  turn  to  weep- 
ing and  gnashing  of  teeth?  Could  it  be 
ihat  the  sparkle  and  sweetness  was  to  turn 


14  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

to  gall,  as  bitter  as  wormwood?  How- 
ever, in  process  of  time  a  change  comes  to 
everything,  and  the  atmosphere  is  clearer 
and  purer  after  a  storm. 

Gilbert  St.  Maurice  moved  among  that 
gay,  brilliant,  laughing  throng,  scattering 
smiles  and  high  good  humor  everywhere. 
Yet,  ever  and  anon  his  keen,  bright  blue 
eyes  wandered  restlessly  to  the  front  en- 
trance, where  a  mass  of  people  were  con- 
stantly passing  in  and  out.  At  last,  he 
stepped  quickly  forward  to  v.'elcome  a  tall, 
beautiful  girl  who  had  just  arrived.  The 
young  lady  bore  herself  as  regally  as  some 
haughty  duchess,  and  was  attended  by  two 
gentleman.  The  elder  gentleman's  face 
wore  a  stern,  set,  forbidding  expression, 
which  betrayed  a  mind  ill  at  ease  with  the 
gay  company  by  which  he  was  surrounded, 
and  from  the  knot  of  wrinkles  that  deep- 
ened on  his  brow,  it  seemed  that  some  per- 
plexing question  was  agitating  his  mind  at 
that  particular  moment. 

It  did  one  good  to  vratch  the  younger 
gentleman's  face — bright,  sunshiny,  with 
eyes    brimming    over    with    merriment,    it 


THE    PARTY.  I  5 

was  very  evident  that  the  "  ills  of  life  "  had 
touched  this  young  gentleman  but  lightly, 
and  from  his  appearance,  if  we  may  be  per- 
mitted to  judge  from  outside  looks,  admit- 
tinof  the  time  when  troubles  would  event- 
ually  come  to  him,  he  would  naturally  be 
inclined  to  look  under  the  cloud  for  the 
''silver  lining,"  which  is  wise  and  well. 

The  new  arrivals  consisted  of  Major 
Hart,  his  son  Victor  and  daughter  Marion. 

And  now,  while  Gilbert  St.  Maurice  has 
taken  Marion  Hart  to  sit  beside  the  waters 
of  the  fountain,  while  he  throws  himself  on 
the  cool,  dewy  grass,  in  an  indolent  atti- 
tude, and  drinks  of  the  love-light  from  the 
deep  hazel  eyes,  we  will  leave  them  to 
themselves,  for  a  ruthless  fate  is  soon  to 
separate  them — perhaps  for  a  time,  and 
perhaps  forever — he  to  go  forth  to  battle 
strong  and  rejoicing,  animated  by  high 
hopes  and  brilliant  resolves,  to  win  laurels 
on  the  field  of  strife,  while  she  will  be  left 
alone  to  mourn  over  a  broken  dream  and 
a  shadowed  life. 

Ah !  why  could  they  have  not  remained 
thus  forever — forever,  down  into  the  very 


1 6  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

dream  of  death,  with  heart  to  heart,  and 
clasped  hands,  where  the  waters  of  the 
fountain  murmur  so  deHciously,  and  the 
roses  glow  in  the  marvelous  moonlight, 
and  the  young  May  winds  whisper  so  lov- 
ingly through  the  fragrant  shrubbery  ? 

Is  Gilbert  St.  Maurice  to  stand  through 
all  those  freezing  winter  nights,  with  his 
musket  hugged  to  his  bosom,  while  waiting 
for  the  approach  of  the  treacherous  enemy 
on  the  swollen  banks  of  the  Potomac  ?  Is 
he  to  linger,  weary  and  sick  and  wounded, 
in  a  foul  and  loathesome  prison,  whilst 
daily  subjected  to  the  taunting  insults  of 
his  inferiors,  while  inwardly  his  proud 
spirit  chafes  at  the  restraint  that  prudence 
compels  him  to  put  upon  his  tongue  ?  Oh  ! 
the  torture  that  is  to  wring  his  proud  soul 
while  he  daily  sees  the  polished  musket  of 
his  guard,  keeping  his  measured  beat  in 
front  of  his  prison  door.  Oh!  the  long 
nights  of  bitter  anguish,  when  no  friendly 
white-winged  messenger  brings  him  tidings 
of  his  loved  ones  at  home  in  far-off  South 
Carolina. 

If  one  could   only    see    into  the  future 


IHE    PARTY.  17 

sometimes,  it  would  only  make  the  great, 
black  shadows  that  darken  our  life  loom 
up  huger  and  blacker  and  more  appalling. 
Yet  sometimes  we  are  almost  ready  to  fly 
in  the  face  of  Providence,  and  question 
the  wisdom  of  our  Maker ;  and  how  much 
worse  would  it  really  be  if  w^e  knew  of  the 
direful  events  about  to  happen  to  us  !  And 
with  what  superiority  we  arrogate  to  our- 
selves certain  rights  and  privileges,  and 
how  loth  we  are  to  recognize  the  all-pow- 
erful hand  of  Providence  in  the  disposition 
of  the  events  of  this  life. 


GILBERT    ST.    MAUUICi:. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MAJOR    HART   IS    OPPOSED    TO    HIS    DAUGHTER 
MARRYING   A   SECESSIONIST.     ALSO   OP- 
POSES HIS  SON  IN  JOINING  THE 
CONFEDERATE   ARMY. 

Now  that  Gilbert  St.  Maurice  \Yas  rush- 
ing so  blindly  and  so  rnadly  into  the  "in- 
iquitous business,"  as  old  Major  Hart  was 
pleased  to  style  the  new-born  aspirant  for 
national  honors,  to-wit:  the  young  Confed- 
eracy, he  swore  by  ail  that  was  holy  and 
good  that  no  daughter  of  his  should  dis- 
grace his  name  by  espousing  a  traitor 
and  an  "original  secessionist  " — something 
which  he  abhorred  more  than  anything  in 
the  world.  He  had  sternly  commanded 
her  to  tell  him  so  the  evening  of  the  party, 
either  for  him  to  abandon  all  idea  of  the 
army,  or  for  his  daughter  to  absolve  her- 
self from  the  promise  of  marriage. 

The  girl  hugged  her  precious  happiness 


A    FATHER  S    OPPOSITION.  1 9 

to  her  bosom,  and  put  off  the  evil  day  of 
telHng  her  lover  as  long  as  was  possible  ; 
yet  the  girl  knew  the  time  had  to  come, 
for  she  also  knew  full  well  how  stern  and 
unrelenting  her  father  could  be  when  ter- 
ribly in  earnest,  as  he  was  so  much  in- 
censed at  the  authorities  of  his  native  State 
for  the  course  they  had  taken. 

Major  Hart  had  lived  for  many  years 
on  the  plantation  adjoining  that  of  Col.  St. 
Maurice.  He  was  respected  on  account 
of  his  great  wealth,  and  feared  also,  and 
generally  hated  by  his  neighbors,  whom 
he  usually  chose  to  regard  with  a  species 
of  contempt,  and  generally  treated  them 
as  inferior  beings,  and  tolerated  them  as 
an  inevitable  nuisance,  occupying  just  so 
much  space  in  the  neighborhood,  and  no 
more — that  is,  those  who  were  only  mod- 
erately w^ell  off.  He  was  just  what  a  cer- 
tain class  of  people  would  style  a  "purse- 
proud"  aristocrat. 

Gilbert  St.  Maurice  and  Marion  Hart 
had  been  associated  together  from  their 
earliest  childhood,  and  they  had  no  recol- 
lection of  the  time  when  they  had  not  loved 


20  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

each  other.  There  had  ahvays  been  a 
tacit  understanding  between  the  two  fam- 
iHes  that  they  were  to  be  married  when  ar- 
rived at  a  suitable  age.  Previous  to  the 
time  we  write,  there  had  never  been  heard 
a  dissenting  voice.  They  had  been  for- 
mally betrothed  just  before  his  trip  to  Eu- 
rope, with  the  full,  free  approbation  of  all 
parties  concerned. 

You  will  understand  now,  how  averse 
was  the  idea  to  Marion  of  telling  her  lover 
the  cruel  words  of  her  tyrannical  parent. 

From  a  careless,  free,  and  happy  child, 
Marion  Hart  had  grown  into  a  tall  and 
beautiful  woman,  gifted  with  a  rare  intel- 
lect, on  which  no  pains  or  expense  had 
been  spared.  Although  her  father  was 
very  tyrannical,  and  oftentimes  seemed 
harsh  and  unnecessarily  cruel  to  his  chil- 
dren, yet  he  loved  them  both  very  dearly 
for  all  that  ,and  was  as  proud  of  them  as 
he  knew  how  to  be. 

The  morning  after  the  party  at  the  St. 
Maurices  had  dav/ned  cloudy  and  cold. 
A  storm  had  arisen  during  the  night,  and 
the   wet,    dreary  morning  that  succeeded 


A    FATHERS    OPPOSITION.  21 

was  very  different  from  the  balmy  loveli- 
ness of  the  previous  evening. 

The  hands  of  the  small  clock  on  the 
dining-room  mantle  were  pointing  to  the 
hour  of  nine — for  these  country  people 
had  city  habits — just  as  the  family  were 
assembling  at  breakfast.  Major  Hart,  in 
faultless  attire — for  if  there  was  one  re- 
deeming trait  in  his  character,  and  nearly 
everybody  has  som.e  redeeming  qualities, 
it  was  his  extreme  fastidiousness  in  regard 
to  his  personal  appearance^took  his  seat 
at  the  foot  of  the  table,  deliberately  un- 
folded a  snowy  damask  napkin,  placed  it 
across  his  knees,  and  addressed  his  son, 
Victor,  while  his  sad-faced,  meek-looking 
wife,  who  stood  in  mortal  dread  of  the 
disapprobation  of  her  husband,  and  never 
dared  express  an  opinion  of  her  own  In 
his  presence,  presided  behind  the  costly 
silver  coffee-urn. 

*'And  so,  Victor,  you  have  actually  had 
the  effrontery  to  enroll  your  name  in  the 
regiment  now  forming  for  Virginia,  after 
all  my  talk  to  you  on  the  subject?  Do  you 
know,  sir,"  thundered  the  irate  Major,  *'to 


22  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

where  your  headlong  hardihood  is  leading 
you?  How  dare  you  sit  there  so  calm 
and  composed,  after  all  that  I  have  said  ? 
What  excuse  will  your  fertile  genius  in- 
vent, sir,  for  a  resolution  so  diametrically 
opposed  to  my  often  expressed  and  re- 
peated views  on  this  subject?" 

That  young  gentleman  was  indeed  com- 
posed, for  he  as  deliberately  transferred  a 
smoking  hot  roll  to  his  plate,  broke  it  half 
in  two  and  proceeded  to  spread  both  sides 
with  butter  as  yellow  as  gold,  tested  the 
strength  of  his  coffee,  added  sugar,  then 
cream,  before  he  vouchsafed  a  single  syl- 
lable in  reply  to  the  tirade  hurled  at  him 
by  his  indignant  father. 

A  golden-throated  songster  warbled  a 
roundelay  from  his  swinging,  gilded  cage 
in  the  west  window,  filling  the  room  with 
melody,  and  that  was  the  only  sound  that 
broke  the  silence  for  the  space  of  several 
m.inutes. 

The  mother  at  the  head  of  the  table 
trembled  in  anticipation  of  the  altercation 
which  she  saw  was  imminent  between  her 
husband  and  her  beloved  only  son,  for  she 
knew  hini  enfold,  and  feared  him  also. 


A  father's  opposition.  23 

Marion,  who  had  remained  silent  during 
the  conversation,  or  rather  storm  of  words 
hurled  at  her  brother's  head,  felt  the  deep- 
est sympathy  for  him.  Knowing  his  dispo- 
sition as  well  as  she  did,  she  knew  with 
what  a  mighty  effort  he  was  controlling 
his  temper  and  forcing  himself  to  speak 
calmly  and  even  respectfully  under  such 
trying  circumstances. 

He  was  a  remarkably  handsome  fellow, 
this  Victor  Hart,  and  he  looked  a  hero, 
every  inch  of  him,  as  he  answered  back, 
with  the  rinor  of  the  true  metal  in  his  voice  : 

"Father,  from  my  earliest  childhood  I 
have  no  recollection  of  one  single  act  of 
filial  disobedience.  Have  I  ever  before, 
sir,  failed  in  rendering  the  honor  and  re- 
spect due  a  kind,  though,  we  sometimes 
think,  unnecessarily  harsh  and  stern  pa- 
rent?" 

And  Victor  Hart  raised  his  frank,  open 
face,  and  clear,  honest  blue  eyes,  where 
truth  shone  in  their  sunny  depths,  to  his 
father's  face,  and  never  flinched  before  the 
passionate  fire  that  flashed  from  the  other. 

''  Yet,  sir,   in  this  exceptional  instance, 


24  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

I  prefer,  and  intend  to  act  for  myself,  on 
my  own  responsibility,  which  I  surely  have 
a  right  to  do.  If  it  displeases  you,  I  am 
sorry,  truly  and  honestly  sorry,  and  far 
more  so  than  you  can  possibly  imagine. 
Something  within  me  tells  me  that  the 
time  is  not  far  distant  when  we  shall  need 
all  the  love  and  sympathy  we  can  get ;  and 
to  have  parted  from  one's  father,  with  bit- 
terness and  recriminations  on  either  side 
would  be  more  than  I  could  bear.  And 
yet,  so  help  me  Heaven !  I  have  enrolled 
my  name  on  the  banner  of  my  country's 
defenders,  and  nobody — father,  mother, 
brother,  or  sister — shall  come  between  me 
and  Duty.  Nothing  shall  deter  me  from 
my  unalterable  resolution  to  fight  it  out  to 
the  bitter  end,  be  it  near  or  distant ;  and 
if  it  please  the  Ruler  of  nations  that  we 
should  fail,  let  us  have  for  an  epitaph  above 
our  dead  soldiers'  graves — 

All  lost  save  Honor  ! 

God  holds  the  destinies  of  nations  in  the 
palm  of  his  right   hand,  and  we  are  told 


A  father's  opposition.  25 

that  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground 
without  his  knowledge.  There  is  a  Provi- 
dence which  watches  over  us  in  all  things, 
be  they  great  or  small.  I  can  not  fold  my 
hands  in  inertness,  and  lead  a  life  of  lux- 
ury and  ease,  while  my  friends  and  com- 
rades are  sleeping  on  the  tented  field, 
awaiting  the  approach  of  the  treacherous 
foe,  that  comes,  armed  with  fire  and  sword, 
to  sweep  over  the  South  like  a  fell  de- 
stroyer. Into  the  hands  of  my  God  I  com- 
mit myself;  and  if  I  be  wrong,  may  he 
forgive  me  in  that  last  dread  hour  when  the 
secrets  of  all  hearts  shall  be  made  known." 
As  he  spoke,  a  burst  of  sunshine  broke 
through  a  watery  cloud,  and  came  through 
the  east  window,  and  fell  around  the  head 
of  the  noble  young  man  with  a  golden 
halo,  and  then  faded  away  as  quickly  as  it 
came.  Ah,  how  like  the  great  bow  of 
promise  that  spanned  our  Southern  sky  at 
the  beginning  of  the  war,  and  then  faded 
away,  almost  as  quickly  as  it  came,  in 
darkness  and  death  and  defeat !  How  like 
the  brilliant  victories  that  never  in  them- 
selves amounted  to  anything  beyond  fill- 
c 


26  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE, 

ing  the  newspapers  with  startHng  headings^ 
and  yet  cost  us  so  many  precious  Hves, 
and  Hke  a  '''  will-o-wisp,"  led  us  on  through 
the  swamps  and  wilderness  and  lost  us  in 
its  tangled,  labyrinthine  depths !  The 
small  handful  of  Confederate  soldiers  con- 
tending against  the  powerful  armies  of 
the  North,  only  numerically  great,  was 
like  the  brave  three  hundred  at  the  pass 
of  Thermopol^.  Nowhere  on  the  record 
of  history  had  men  ever  endured  greater 
hardships,  or  fought  wnth  more  abandon 
and  superb  courage  ;  and,  had  all  the  sol- 
diers and  citizens  done  their  duty  as  those 
ragged  rebels  who  came  home  in  May, 
1865,  with  a  pocketful  of  worthless  Con- 
federate scrip,  and  two  dollars  and  a  half 
in  gold  in  their  purses,  we  had  not  been 
where  we  are  to-day.  But  it  is  like  stand- 
ing above  the  grave  of  some  lost  hope  and 
echoing  mournfully,  "  It  might  have  been." 
The  defeat  of  the  South  will  always  be  to 
some  of  us  a  sore  point,  and  it  is  hard 
not  to  infuse  something  of  partisan  bit- 
terness in  this  record  of  past  years  and 
scenes. 


A   FATHER  S   OPPOSITION.  2/ 

But  we  have  wandered  away  from  the 
breakfast-table  conversation. 

Victor  Hart  had  truthfully  and  manfully 
spoken  his  sentiments.  He  was  not 
ashamed  of  what  he  had  done,  for  next  to 
his  God  and  his  mother  he  had  loved  the 
land  that  had  given  him  birth.  He  sat 
waiting  for  his  father's  answer,  while  bal- 
ancing his  spoon  across  his  coffee  cup,  ab- 
stractedly gazing  into  the  bottom  as  if  he 
was  reading  his  future  or  destiny  in  the 
sugary  sediment. 

The  answer  came  finally,  full  of  fury  and 
concentrated  wrath;  and  we  think  if  the 
lightning  flashes  of  anger  that  blazed  in 
his  father's  eyes  could  have  annihilated 
him  where  he  sat,  he  would  have  done  so. 

"  Very  well,  sir ;  if  you  choose  to  go 
headlong  to  perdition  in  your  blindness,  I 
shall  no  longer  consider  it  any  affair  of 
mine.  You  will  all  be  caught  and  hung, 
what  you  justly  deserve,  with  a  traitor's 
rope  around  your  necks.  A  Southern 
Confederacy,  indeed  !  Ridiculous  !  Pre- 
posterous !  " 


28  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 

Then,  after  having  deHvered  himself  of 
some  of  his  bottled-up  wrath,  he  turned 
to  address  his  daughter,  who  had  been 
gradually  growing  paler  and  paler  ever 
since  the  conversation  commenced.  She 
expected,  yet  dreaded,  the  question  she 
felt  sure  her  father  would  ask  her. 

The  mother  looked  at  her  daughter  as 
her  husband  changed  his  position,  prepar- 
atory to  addressing  her,  and  she  longed, 
how  vainly !  to  shield  her  from  the  coming 
tempest.  The  only  consolation  there  was 
in  the  present  aspect  was  that  a  fierce 
storm  soon  exhausts  itself,  and  it  was  of 
little  moment  who  tried  to  hush  the  roar- 
ings of  the  one  that  was  roused  that  day. 

''  Well,  Marion,  I  hope  you  have  had 
more  regard  for  my  advice  than  your  hot- 
headed brother,  who  has  set  all  my  au- 
thority at  defiance.  Have  you  told  that 
cowardly,  sneaking  traitor  and  secessionist 
never  to  darken  my  door  again  until  he 
tears  away  that  infernal  cockade  from  its 
conspicuous  place  on  his  hat?" 

*'  No,  sir,"  replied  Marion  Hart,  firmly, 
"  I  have  not  yet ;  I  could  not  tell  him  words 


A    FATHER  S   OPPOSITION.  29 

SO  cruel  at  his  own  home,  and  just  at  his 
return  from  his  long  absence,  when  every- 
thing around  us  was  so  gay  and  bright  and 
happy.  I  thought  it  would  be  best  for  him 
to  visit  me  here,  and  then  I  could  tell  him 
all."  And  when  she  repeated  the  word 
"all,"  she  bent  low  over  her  plate  to  con- 
ceal her  emotion,  for  her  eyes  were  full  of 
unshed  tears,  and  there  was  a  tremor  in 
her  voice  she  could  not  conceal.  At  last, 
when  she  could  no  longer  keep  them  back, 
they  began  to  drop  slowly,  one  by  one. 
The  sight  of  them,  instead  of  softening  her 
father's  heart  with  pity,  his  lovely  and 
ever  dutiful  daughter  weeping  over  the 
proposed  estrangement  from  her  lover, 
only  angered  him  ;  for  if  there  was  any 
one  thing  on  the  face  of  the  earth  for 
which  he  had  never  had  any  sympathy,  it 
was  a  woman's  tears.  To  cry,  for  the 
slightest  provocation,  had  seemed  to  him 
to  be  the  principal  aim  of  their  existence ; 
for  it  appears  that  his  wife  had  done  but 
little  else  since  her  married  life  but  weep 
over  his  harshness  and  cruelty.  For  her, 
the    fine    gold    of    her   wedded    life    had 


30  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 

quickly  turned  to  dross,  and  the  romance 
of  her  love  soon  over.  Therefore  the 
sight  of  his  daughter's  tears  only  exaspe- 
rated him  the  more. 

"Whew!  crying!  You  had  better  la- 
ment the  day  he  was  ever  born  than  to 
see  him  turn  traitor  to  his  country ;  had 
better,  by  the  memory  of  your  past  love, 
try  to  reclaim  him  to  the  right  way,  and 
let  this  precious  '  Southern  Confederacy ' 
work  out  its  own  ruin,  alone." 

The  girl  raised  her  tearful  face  proudly 
to  her  father's,  and  spoke  out  her  senti- 
ments, regardless  of  the  consequences  : 

''  Father,  I  agree  with  him  in  his  senti- 
ments. Let  him  fight  for  the  South.  She 
needs  all  the  brave,  true  men  she  can  get. 
I  am  willing,  nay,  anxious,  for  him  to  go, 
as  much  as  I  have  loved  him,  and  as  dear 
as  he  seems  to  me  at  this  moment.  I 
should  scorn  him  if  he  did  not  cast  his 
fortunes  with  the  South.  He  would  be  in 
my  eyes  a  craven  and  a  coward,  if  he  were 
to  remain  at  home  ;  and  all  the  deep  af- 
fection I  now  bear  for  him  would  turn  to 
bitterness  and  contempt;  but  I  shall  im- 


A  father's  opposition,  31 

plore  the  God  of  battles  to  keep  my  fond, 
true-hearted  lover  from  danger  and  harm, 
for  I  know  he  is  brave  to  the  heart's 
core." 

And  Marion  Hart,  after  having  asserted 
her  independence,  turned  and  proudly 
swept  her  trailing  robes  from  the  dining- 
room,  without  having  finished  her  break- 
fast. 

That  breakfast  had  been  rather  a  dis- 
mal affair,  considering  the  turn  affairs  had 
taken ;  and  a  more  unhappy  quartette  than 
those  four,  who  had  met  around  the  boun- 
tiful morning  board,  would  have  been 
hard  to  find.  The  antagonism  of  all  pres- 
ent seemed  being  forced  to  the  surface 
that  morning,  in  a  way  that  left  bitter 
memories  rankling  in  the  bosom  of  each 
one. 

''  Is  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil 
conspiring  to  set  me  crazy,  or  is  it  only  an 
illusion  of  the  brain,  that  my  own  children 
that  I  have  reared  and  nurtured,  defy  me 
at  my  own  table,  and  set  up  their  ideas 
and  opinions  in  opposition  to  my  own  ?  I 
never  could  have  believed  it  possible." 


32  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

And  Major  Hart  passed  his  hand  over 
his  eyes  to  reassure  himself,  to  see  if  he 
had  not  been  dreaming.  That  his  docile, 
civilly-spoken  children  should  have  set  up 
and  maintained  their  will  in  opposition  to 
their  father's,  who  had  managed  always  to 
instill  in  their  minds  something  like  rev- 
erence— very  nearly  approaching  awe — 
was  something  he  could  in  nowise  under- 
stand. However,  owing  to  the  state  of 
affairs  then  existing,  we  will  attribute  the 
change  to  the  abstract  strength  of  the  hu- 
man intellect,  rising  out  of  gloom  and 
throwing  off  bondage  and  finding  utterance 
in  free  and  independent  speech. 


A  father's  opposition.  33 


CHAPTER  V. 

GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE  VISITS    HIS   BETROTHED 
IN  HER  OWN  HOME,  AND  THERE  LEARNS 
THAT  HER  FATHER  OPPOSES  HIS  DAUGH- 
TER'S MARRIAGE  WITH  AN  "  ORIG- 
INAL SECESSIONIST." 

According  to  an  agreement  made  the 
previous  evening,  Gilbert  presented  him- 
self at  the  residence  of  Major  Hart  on 
that  same  afternoon  of  the  spirited  pas- 
sage of  arms  at  the  breakfast  table.  The 
girl  was  in  perfect  agony  lest  he  should 
meet  her  father,  and  they  should  come  to 
high  words ;  for  she  knew  how  unconscious 
he  was  of  the  coming  trouble,  although  he 
was  perfectly  aware  in  what  light  Major 
Hart  viewed  the  present  political  issue, 
yet  never  dreaming  that  it  could  possibly 
affect  them  in  their  relations  to  each  other. 
He  had  no  thought  that  his  violent  ani- 
mosity to  the  Southern  Confederacy  could 


34  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

lead  that  far.  Fortunately,  after  dinner 
that  day,  the  Major  remembered  a  busi- 
ness engagement  he  had  in  a  neighboring 
town.  So  he  rode  directly  away,  and  was 
detained  until  late  in  the  afternoon  ;  so  the 
lovers  were  not  interrupted  in  their  con- 
versation. 

There  was  a  favorite  spot  where  they 
had  so  often  dreamed  away  the  happy 
summer  hours,  under  the  cool  shadows  of 
the  tall  trees  that  overlooked  the  banks  of 
a  swiftly  flowing  stream,  that  wound  like  a 
silver  ribbon  through  meadow  and  wood. 
Thither  they  repaired. 

It  was  a  beautiful  tableau — Marion  Hart, 
with  her  scarlet  shawl  trailing  around  her, 
like  the  royal  plumage  of  some  bright 
bird,  in  vivid  contrast  to  the  young  grasses 
and  summer  wild  flowers,  just  springing 
into  life  and  beauty,  as  frail  themselves  as 
all  earthly  hopes.  It  was  still  cloudy. 
Only  occasionally  the  sun  came  through 
the  rift  of  clouds,  lighted  up  the  earth  for 
a  moment,  and  was  gone.  It  was  as  if  the 
sun  of  happiness  had  gone  down  forever 
upon   their    young    lives.     It    is    the   old, 


A  father's  opposition.  35 

old  story,  that  we  have  heard  from  our 
childhood — man's  breathless  devotion  and 
woman's  constancy  ;  yet  being  the  victims 
of  unfortunate  circumstances,  cruel  fate 
often  separates  them  widely,  sometimes 
for  years,  and  sometimes  forever;  yet  for 
all  that  their  grief  was  none  the  less 
poignant. 

Marion  Hart  truthfully  informed  her 
lover  of  everything,  in  substance,  that  her 
father  had  said,  withholding  only  the  op- 
probrious epithets  he  had  used  concerning 
him.  He  was,  of  course,  both  surprised 
and  annoyed,  yet  he  sat  with  bowed  head 
and  averted  eyes,  never  an  exclamation 
of  regret  or  astonishment  escaping  him 
during  the  entire  recital.  At  last,  when 
Marion  had  finished,  she  looked  up  to 
mark  the  effect  her  words  had  on  him; 
but  the  gloom  and  despondency  that  had 
overtaken  him  with  the  first  shock  of  her 
communication  had  passed  away,  and  the 
light  of  a  brave  hopefulness  had  cleared 
his  countenance.  For  her  sake;  for  the 
sake  of  the  woman  he  had  loved  so  well, 
and  who   reposed  so  much  confidence  in 


36  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

him,  he  resolved  to  be  cheerful,  and  con- 
trolling himself  as  best  he  might,  withhold 
from  her  the  knowledge  of  the  pain  her 
words  had  given  him. 

Marion  had  comforted  her  lover  all  she 
could  after  she  had  finished  telling  him 
what  had  passed  between  her  father,  her 
brother,  and  herself.  Woman-like,  she 
was  willing  to  endure  the  "  rainy  day  "  and 
wait  for  the  sunshine  that  she  felt  would 
all  come  in  good  time.  After  all,  what 
would  life  be,  divested  of  the  charming 
illusions  of  hope  ?  Would  it  be  worth 
living  for,  if  we  were  compelled  to  accept 
every  situation  practically  and  literally  in 
the  affairs  of  every-day  life  ?  She  told  him 
to  "  wait  and  hope."  Oh,  golden  words  of 
hope  and  promise,  that  light  and  gladden  so 
many  dark  and  gloomy  pathways.  That 
when  the  war  was  over  she  would  yet  be 
his  wife ;  that  day  and  night  her  prayers 
should  ascend  to  Heaven  for  his  welfare ; 
not  to  despond,  but  go  forth  to  meet  the 
future  with  a  brave  heart,  and  accept  cheer- 
fully whatever  it  held  in  store  for  him, 
trusting  all  to  God. 


A  father's  opposition.  37 

Up  to  this  time  Gilbert  had  not  uttered 
a  word — only  a  spasm  of  pain,  once  in  a 
while,  contracted  his  brow.  It  had  been 
the  dearest  wish  of  this  young  man's  life 
to  make  her  his  wife  before  he  went  to  Vir- 
ginia, and  now  that  his  dream  was  broken, 
and  his  hopes  wrecked,  it  did  seem  very 
hard  and  cruel  to  this  high-spirited  young 
man ;  yet  the  very  courage  and  calmness 
of  Marion  sustained  him,  and  his  voice  at 
last  found  utterance  : 

'^I  will  be  brave  in  this  dark  hour  of 
trial.  I  shall  wait  and  hope ;  and  if  God 
spares  me  to  come  home  after  the  wars 
are  over,  we  shall  love  each  other  all  the 
better  for  our  long  and  cruel  separation. 
I  shall  dream  of  you,  my  darling,  day  and 
night ;  and  when,  after  the  fatigues  of  the 
day  are  over,  and  I  shall  lie  on  the  tented 
field,  with  the  stars  shining  so  kindly  above 
me,  how  I  shall  love  to  think  of  you  and 
all  the  sweet,  happy  past !  I  shall  know, 
too,  my  love  (for  in  this  hour  you  are 
dearer  to  me  than  you  ever  were  before), 
that  you  will  be  thinking  of  me.  Never, 
in  all  my  wanderings  in  Europe,  did  I  ever 


38  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

have  a  thought  for  any  but  you,  even 
though  high-born,  titled  ladies  smiled  so 
kindly  upon  me.  My  thoughts  were  al- 
ways in  my  far-off  native  State,  and  the 
memory  of  your  dear,  beautiful  face,  and 
deep,  hazel  eyes,  and  bonny  brown  hair, 
kept  me  true  to  my  allegiance.  I  shall  not 
forget  you  now.  Oh,  my  Love  !  it  is  hard 
indeed  to  leave  you  thus.  The  very 
thought  of  it  makes  me  shudder." 

And  a  tear  that  was  no  disgrace  to  the 
manhood  of  Gilbert  St.  Maurice  dropped 
on  the  white  hand  that  lay  passively  in  his. 

The  songs  of  the  birds  was  the  only 
sound  that  broke  the  silence  for  the  space 
of  several  minutes.  Ah,  what  care  or 
trouble  had  they?  The  waters  of  the 
brook  ran  swifter  onward  with  a  lulling 
musical  sound.  In  other  days  how  sweet 
had  been  the  sound ;  but  now  it  fell  un- 
heeded on  the  ears  that  were  dead  to  all 
things  else  save  the  memory  of  their  own 
grief. 

In  a  few  weeks  more  Gilbert  would  be 
gone,  and  also  her  brother  Victor,  and 
then  the  future  would  be  dreary  enough. 


1  father's  opposition.  39 

Dry  desolation  would  assume  the  place  of 
lost  happiness  and  past  pleasures.  Her 
mother's  society  would  be  her  only  com- 
fort, for  precious  little  sympathy  had  she. 
any  right  to  expect  from  her  tyrannical 
father,  who  would  only  be  the  more  pro- 
voked to  find  his  daughter  lamenting  the 
absence  of  her  "  traitor  lover."  For  his 
will  was  as  a  rod  of  iron,  and  his  decrees 
as  unalterable  as  those  of  the  Medes  and 
Persians ;  and  to  have  offended  him  was 
in  his  eyes  a  crime  as  heinous  as  to  have 
committed  the  "unpardonable  sin"  that 
ministers  declaim  so  loudly  from  the  pul- 

During  the  interval  of  time  that  elapsed 
before  leaving  for  Virginia,  Gilbert  and 
Marion  met  often  at  this  favorite  tryst,  and 
derived  such  comfort  as  best  they  might 
in  each  other's  society  while  together. 

In  the  meantime  the  regiment  is  regu- 
larly enrolled  and  equipped,  and  Victor 
Hart  was  elected  captain  of  a  company, 
which  news  being  communicated  to  his 
father,  that  gentleman  expressed  his  dis- 
approbation   by   a    contemptuous    grunt. 


40  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

Gilbert  St.  Maurice  was  a  private  soldier 
in  the  same  company,  and  burning  and 
eager  for  active  movements. 

We  all  remember  at  the  beginning  of 
the  war  how  anxious  and  eager  were  those 
young  gentlemen  denominated  "  Chivalry'* 
by  the  North,  in  derision,  to  engage  the 
''blue  bonnets  from  over  the  border"  in  a 
genuine,  bona  fide  battle,  with  colors  fly- 
ing, drums  beating,  and  gay,  triumphant 
music  swelling  on  the  breeze.  And  then 
there  came  a  time  when  fighting,  divested 
of  its  romance,  came  in  good,  hard  earn- 
est, without  their  having  the  trouble  to  go 
after  it. 


BANQUET   AND    FINAL   FAREWELLS.  4 1 


CHAPTER    VI. 

ST.  MAURICE  GOES  TO  VIRGINIA— MARION  HART 
HOLDS  A  LEVEE  IN  THE  PARLOR  THE  EVEN- 
ING PREVIOUS  TO  THE  REGIMENT  LEAV- 
ING  FOR  THE   SEAT  OF  WAR— AN  IM- 
PROMPTU BANQUET  AND  FINAL 
FAREWELLS. 

The  time  had  arrived  for  the  regiment 
that  had  been  drilHng  and  preparing,  un- 
der its  accompHshed  masters,  to  start  for 
the  seat  of  war.  Marion  Hart  bade  her 
lover  a  long  farewell  at  their  favorite  place 
of  meeting,  on  the  ledge  of  rocks  by  the 
brook  side,  where  they  had  met  each  af- 
ternoon for  several  weeks. 

We  will  pass  over  the  agony  that  filled 
their  young  hearts,  when  their  hands  closed 
over  each  other  for  the  last  time  ;  it  might 
be  for  long  years,  and  it  might  be  forever. 
There  is  a  grief  that  is  too  sacred  to  be 
exposed  to  the  world,  which  only  laughs 


42  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

lightly  and  treats  with  contempt  or  indif- 
ference the  holiest,  purest  emotions  of  the 
human  heart ;  yet,  nevertheless,  that  grief 
is  often  sublime  in  itself,  for  it  suffers  in 
silence  and  is  strong. 

Marion  Hart  sat  there  long  after  the 
sound  of  her  lover's  footsteps  had  died 
away  in  the  distance,  with  her  face  buried 
in  her  hands,  thinking — who  knows  what  ? 
in  that  bitter  hour — until  the  gathering 
gloom  of  the  evening  warned  her  that 
night  was  fast  approaching,  and  she  a  full 
half  mile  from  home. 

Once,  when  her  lover  had  gone  but  a 
few  steps,  he  stopped  and  folded  his  arms 
and  gazed  long  and  intently  at  the  bowed 
form  that  quivered  and  shook  with  the 
agony  she  could  not  control.  One  last, 
struggling  sunbeam  burst  through  the 
clouds  that  ever  and  anon  rolled  in 
masses  across  the  western  sky,  and  lighted 
up  the  braids  of  her  bonny  brown  hair. 
It  was  a  scene  he  never  forgot.  It  haunted 
him  to  the  day  of  his  death.  The  girl 
that  he  loved  so  intensely  sitting  there  in 
the  fading  light  of  that  spring  afternoon, 


IJAxNQUET   AND    FINAL    FAREWELLS.  43 

bowed  in  sorrow  at  the  thought  of  parting 
for  so  lonof  a  time  from  him  whom  she  had 
loved  so  well,  the  winds  sighing  through 
the  tall  trees  so  mournfully  and  low,  as  if 
they  felt  sympathy  with  human  grief,  the 
clouds  with  golden  edges  in  the  far  west, 
were  all  daguerreotyped  forever  on  his 
memory.  All  through  the  long  night  that 
followed  he  saw  the  bowed  form,  heard 
the  heavy  sobs  that  shook  the  slight  form 
of  her  who  was  the  life  of  his  Hfe.  Laugh 
not  in  scorn,  oh,  mockers  !  Why  "  comes 
not  death  to  those  who  mourn?"  that  we 
are  forced  to  hush  the  wild  throbbings  of 
our  hearts,  and  command  them  "  peace,  be 
still,"  when  they  are  breaking  with  the 
weight  of  an  untold  agony ;  and  force  a 
composed  exterior  and  pleasant  smiles  for 
those  with  whom  we  are  associated.  The 
world  deals  iii  criticisms  not  sparingly,  and 
has  but  little  sympathy  for  outward  mani- 
festations of  grief,  be  the  cause  what  it 
may. 

Marion  Hart  was  outwardly  calm.  Al- 
though she  hugged  her  great  sorrow  to 
her  bosom,  yet  she  put  it  far  out  of  sight. 


44  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

As  soon  as  she  reached  home,  she  went 
immediately  to  her  own  room  and  ex- 
changed her  gray  walking  suit  for  a  cool, 
flowing,  white  muslin,  with  delicate  lace  as 
filmy  and  fragile  as  a  cob-web,  around  the 
neck  and  sleeves ;  while  in  her  hair  she 
placed  a  cluster  of  exquisite,  creamy,  fra- 
grant rose-buds.  Verily,  she  was  the  in- 
carnation of  delicacy,  purity,  and  refine- 
ment— -just  such  a  being  that  men  of  pas- 
sionate, worshiping  natures  would  peril 
their  very  souls'  salvation  for. 

All  that  evening  she  entertained  a  par- 
lor full  of  gentlemen  callers,  with  sweet, 
gentle,  lady-like  grace ;  and  if  there  was 
no  sunshine  in  her  heart  that  evening,  no 
one  of  the  gentlemen  visitors  would  have 
supposed  so  from  the  gay  manner  and 
brilliant  repartee.  She  laughed  and  jested 
and  sang,  seemingly  as  gay  and  happy  and 
thoughtless  as  in  the  years  gone  by. 

The  young  gentlemen  were  all  mem- 
bers of  the  regiment  that  on  the  morrow 
would  be  en  route  for  Virginia.  There  was 
only  one  person  in  that  room,  her  brother 
Victor,  who  knew  how  his  sister  was  fore- 


BANQUET    AND    FINAL    FAREWELLS.  45 

ing  herself  to  be  entertaining  and  enter- 
tained. With  the  keen  intuition  of  love 
he  saw  the  forced  smile,  and  his  heart 
ached  for  the  sorrow  that  he  had  no  power 
to  help. 

It  was  a  gay  group  of  young  gallants 
that  made  themselves  merry  that  evening, 
previous  to  their  leaving  for  Virginia.  It 
was  well  they  saw  not  the  Blood  and  Sor- 
row and  Tears  that  would  eventually  come 
to  them,  or  perhaps  the  gay  laugh  would 
have  ended  in  a  sigh,  and  the  smile  would 
have  frozen  on  their  hps  if  the  great  pan- 
orama of  the  future,  baleful  and  threaten- 
ing, could  have  passed  in  review  before 
them.  Therefore,  it  is  right  to  laugh  when 
we  can,  and  not  to  anticipate  trouble. 

Later  in  the  evening,  after  music  and 
song  and  much  gay  bantering,  the  com- 
pany were  invited  into  the  dining-room  to 
partake  of  refreshments  that  always 
seemed  on  hand  in  this  well-appointed  es- 
tablishment. The  young  gentlemen  were 
quite  willing  to  regale  their  physical  appe- 
tite wdth  something  substantial  after  that 
'*  feast  of  reason  and  flow  of  soul." 


46  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

The  bountifully-Spread  table  never  came 
amiss,  with  all  manner  of  cold  game, 
jellies,  pickles,  salads,  fruits,  and  such  like 
edibles  that  tempt  the  fallible  flesh.  A 
large  white  cake,  beautifully  frosted,  and 
accompanied  by  the  most  delicious  ice- 
creams, graced  the  center  of  the  table. 
In  fact,  it  was  the  most  elegant  impromptu 
collation  that  could  well  be  imagined. 

Marion  was  the  graceful  hostess,  and 
dispensed  the  hospitalities  of  the  table 
with  charming  elegance  and  self-posses- 
sion. She  laughed,  and  returned  jest  for 
jest  with  her  friends,  who,  most  probably, 
would  never  stand  there  again,  under  the 
mellow,  dreamy  radiance  that  fell  on  the 
cut  glass  and  elaborately  carven  silver 
that  decorated  the  repast.  She  was  her 
own  individual  self,  pure  in  heart  and  true 
in  intent  and  purpose,  and  no  sickly  sen- 
timentalist, parading  her  grief  before  cu- 
rious eyes. 

Verner  Gray,  a  gay  and  thoughtless 
youth  of  twenty,  who  had  been  the  petted 
child  of  wealth  and  luxury  all  his  life,  lifted 
from  the  table,    near  where  he   stood  by 


BANQUET    AND    FINAL    FAREWELLS.  47 

Marion,  a  napkin  of  the  finest  damask, 
with  a  dehcate  crimson  border,  and  a  heavy 
silver  fork  with  "Hart"  engraven  on  the 
handle,  and  drew  a  long,  deep  sigh,  with 
the  most  comical  face  imaginable,  and 
said  : 

*'  Look,  good  friends;  does  it  not  make 
your  heart  ache  to  look  at  all  these  good 
things  that  will  never  gladden  your  eyes 
again  after  to-night  ?  My  fine  friends,  you 
and  I,  after  to-day,  will  have  said  farewell 
to  the  splendors  of  the  past.  Cut  glass 
and  gilt  china  will  soon  be  a  dream  of  the 
days  that  were." 

Howard  Elliott  lifted  a  finger-bowl  from 
the  table  and  said  gaily : 

'*  I  do  not  think  we  will  have  much  use 
for  anything  of  this  kind  when  we  go  to 
roughing  it  in  the  '  Old  Dominion.'  " 

And  Marion  replied  with  a  pleasant 
smile  that  she  ''  expected,  when  her  former 
friends  returned  to  the  refinements  of  their 
old  homes,  they  would  have  forgotten  the 
proprieties  of  civilized  life,  and  require  to 
be  taught,  as  the  children  say,  '  manners ' 
when  they  come  home." 


48  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

Verner  Gray,  who  was  the  most  fastid- 
ious mortal  that  ever  Hved,  replied  : 

"Well,  I,  for  one,  expect  to  observe 
some  of  the  decencies  of  life  if  I  am  a 
soldier ;  and  as  long  as  there  is  any  soap 
and  water  in  the  world,  I  intend  to  be 
clean.  If  my  servant  deserts  me,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  he  will  the  very  first  oppor- 
tunity he  gets,  I  am  going  to  get  me  a  tub, 
and  roll  up  my  sleeves  and  take  lessons  in 
the  mystery  of  the  laundry." 

A  gay  laugh  followed  this  patriotic  out- 
burst. The  idea  of  Verner  Gray,  with  his 
immaculate  shirt  front,  and  diamond  studs, 
and  polished  boots,  with  his  white  hands 
and  delicately  pared  nails,  bending  over  a 
''wash  tub,"  was  supremely  ludicrous  ;  he 
who  had  never  caught  and  saddled  his 
own  horse  in  his  life,  and  whose  prin- 
cipal amusement  was  whispering  ''  tender 
nothings  "  in  the  ears  of  some  reigning 
belle,  while  whiling  away  the  long,  idle, 
morning  hours. 

Victor  Hart  laughed,  and  said  : 

"O  Verner,  Verner,  my  friend,  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  do  I  pity  you,  doomed 


BANQUET   AND    FINAL    FAREWELLS.  49 

as  you  are  to  the  life  you  have  chosen. 
As  for  myself,  it  will  make  but  little  differ- 
ence, for  I  can  adapt  myself  to  circum- 
stances, however  unpleasant;  but  you — 
what  will  you  do  without  your  dressing 
case,  and  perfumed  soaps,  and  nail  brushes, 
and  all  the  elegant  appliances  of  the  toilet, 
which  hitherto  you  have  considered  indis- 
pensable ?" 

Marion  spoke  up  in  her  friend's  de- 
fense : 

''  Victor,  I  think  you  are  mistaken  in  re- 
gard to  Mr.  Gray's  character.  You  know 
it  is  only  in  adversity  our  latent  talents  are 
developed ;  and  I  think  Mr.  Gray  will 
prove  the  right  man  in  the  right  place 
when  the  time  comes.  He  has  never  yet 
had  occasion  to  test  his  strength ;  only 
allow  him  a  fair  trial." 

'*  Thank  you,  Miss  Marion,  for  coming 
so  gallantly  to  my  rescue.  Commend  me, 
if  you  please,  to  the  ready  wit  of  a  woman 
when  one  gets  into  trouble." 

Howard  Elliott  spoke  sententiously : 

''The  next  generation  of  men  and  wo- 
men will  be  something  to  count  on  ;  for  as 

D 


50  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

sure  as  the  sun  rises  in  the  east  and  sets 
in  the  west,  and  I  believe  that  is  a  fact 
with  which  we  have  been  famihar  from  our 
childhood's  earliest  recollection,  slavery  is 
doomed ;  yea,  doomed,  and  the  '  irrepres- 
sible conflict'  is  to  hand;  we  may,  and 
will,  do  all  we  can  to  avert  the  coming 
tempest ;  but  it  is  bound  to  break  in  un- 
governable fury  over  our  defenseless 
heads." 

''The  mere  fact  of  losing  our  servants 
is  of  small  importance,  compared  to  the 
servile  bondage  we  will  be  compelled  to 
endure  under  the  '  powers  that  be '  if  we 
lose  the  issue,"  said  Victor  Hart.  "I  shall 
fight,  of  course,  as  a  matter  of  principle, 
and  because  I  am  a  South  Carolinian,  to 
the  'manor  born,'  which,  you  all  know,  in 
our  estimation  is  but  a  stone's  throw  from 
paradise  and  but  one  remove  from  nobil- 
ity. Besides,  I  want  to  uphold  the  honor 
of  the  plucky  Palmetto  State,  which  was 
the  first  that  had  the  moral  courage  to 
bang  away  at  the  'stars  and  stripes.'  I 
long  to  be  in  my  saddle  and  away  to  the 
Yvars — softly,  lest  my  good  father  hear  me. 


BANQUET   AND    FINAL   FAREWELLS.  5  I 

Besides,    1    think    my    captain's    uniform 
vastly  becoming." 

And  the  newly-fledged  captain  drew  his 
tall  form  to  its  full  height  with  a  laughable 
air  of  mock  dignity.  He  was  right.  The 
gray  uniform,  buttoned  to  the  throat  over 
the  full,  broad  chest,  resplendent  in  gilt 
braid  and  brass  buttons,  was  becoming; 
there  was  no  doubt  about  that. 

"And  I  expect.  Gray,"  continued  Victor 
Hart,  "  w^hen  you  and  I  come  home  from 
the  wars,  if  we  should  be  among  the  for- 
tunate ones  to  be  spared,  we  will  find  our 
old  servants  lounging  around  in  velvet 
dressing  gowns,  and  those  among  them 
who  used  to  black  our  boots  and  saddle 
our  horses,  puzzling  their  thick  skulls  over 
Euclid,  and  regaling  their  literary  appe- 
tites with  Caesar  and  Horace.  Won't  it 
be  laughable,  though!" 

Little  did  Captain  Hart  know  how  near 
the  truth  his  random,  jesting  remarks 
would  reach. 

The  clock  on  the  mantle  tolled  out 
tw^elve  silvery  chimes,  and  the  gay  revel- 
ers   started    in    laughing   surprise.      Will 


52  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

Houghton,  who  had  talked  but  Httle  during 
the  evening,  and  was  extremely  given  to 
poetry,  executed  a  most  profound  salaam^ 
with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  quoted  to 
Marion — 

"  Too  late  I  staid;  forgive  the  crime; 
Unheeded  flew  the  hours ; 
How  noiseless  falls  the  foot  of  time 
That  only  treads  on  flowers." 

Victor  Hart  said  :  ''  Sister  mine,  we  will 
excuse  you  now,  as  we  want  to  touch 
glasses  once  more  together,  the  last  time 
perhaps  for  many  of  us." 

And  Marion  bowed,  and  went  through 
the  ceremony  of  a  cordial  hand-shaking 
with  each  one  of  the  gav  young  gentle- 
men who  had  been  her  sworn  champions 
and  friends  for  a  long  time  ;  and  bidding 
them  take  excellent  care  of  her  darling 
brother  in  case  of  sickness,  or  should  he 
be  so  unfortunate  as  to  get  wounded,  she 
retired  to  her  room  to  dream  of,  and  weep 
over,  the  absence  of  one  who  should  have 
been  there  and  was  not. 

Victor  ordered  the  servants  to  bring 
him  several  bottles  of  champagne,  which, 


BANQUET   AND    FINAL    FAREWELLS.  53 

unscrewed,  the  corks  flew  against  the  ceil- 
ing with  a  resounding  noise,  and  their 
glasses  rang  against  each  other  as  they 
pledged  themselves  in  many  a  sparkling 
bumper,  and  drank  to  each  other's  wel- 
fare in  the  new,  untried  life  of  a  soldier. 

''  Let  us  be  merry  to-night,  for  to-mor- 
row we  will  be  far  from  the  scenes  of  our 
childhood,"  they  all  cried  ;  and  merry  they 
certainly  were  for  full  another  hour,  and 
when  the  clock  rang  out  the  solemn  hour 
of  one,  the  young  gentlemen  mounted 
their  horses  and  turned  homeward. 

The  song  and  the  wine  had  made  Will 
Stanhope,  one  of  the  gay  party,  very  merry, 
and,  in  fact,  it  was  as  much  as  he  could  do 
to  walk  comfortably.  As  a  parting  toast 
to  Victor,  he  quoted  : 

"  Were  it  the  last  drop  in  the  bottle,  Victor, 
And  I  just  about  to  drink ; 
Ere  my  reeling  body  fell,  Victor, 
'Tis  to  t/iee  that  I  would  drink!" 

''  Good-night,  old  fellows,"  said  Victor, 
at  the  gate.  ''  I  will  see  you  all  in  the 
morning;"  and  he  turned  and  slowly 
walked  up  the  shelled  walk  to  the  house, 


54  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

and  sat  down  on  the  front  balcony.  The 
clouds  had  passed  away,  and  the  stars  had 
come  out  in  all  their  brilliant  summer  lov- 
liness.  Victor  heard  the  shouts  of  his  gay 
companions,  and  saw  the  gleam  of  their 
cigars  which  shone  like  specks  of  fire 
through  the  woods,  and  thought  sadly  of 
what  the  future  held  in  store  for  them. 
Yet,  for  all  that,  his  was  a  cheerful  dispo- 
sition, and  he  was  very  much  inclined  to 
look  on  the  sunny  side  of  affairs  in  gen- 
eral. 


SOCIAL   POSITION    OF    SOUTHERN    SOLDIERS.      55 


CHAPTER  VII. 

VICTOR  VISITS  HIS  MOTHER  AND  RECEIVES  HER 
BLESSING   BEFORE   HE   RETIRES— THE  SO- 
CIAL POSITION  OF  SOUTHERN  SOLDIERS 
IN  GENERAL— A  COMPLIMENT 
TO  TENNESSEE. 

Victor,  after  dreaming  a  long  time  on 
the  front  balcony,  rose,  and  on  his  way  to 
his  own  room,  knocked  at  his  mother's 
door  and  was  admitted.  He  saw  a  faint 
line  of  light  gleaming  under  the  door,  and 
he  knew  she  was  yet  up  and  waiting  for 
him.  How  the  mother's  heart  yearned 
over  her  darling  son  who  would  leave  her 
on  the  coming  morrow  !  So  she  had  pa- 
tiently v/aited  until  his  friends  had  retired, 
to  have  one  more  heart-felt  communion 
with  her  son,  witnessed  by  no  eye  save 
that  of  her  God. 

This  Victor  Hart  had  always  been  a  du- 
tiful son,  lovine  and  affectionate,  and  had 


6  GILBERT  ST.    MAURICE, 


many  times  shielded  his  mother  from  the 
fury  of  his  father  when  highly  exasperated. 
Now  he  was  going  away — is  it  any  wonder 
that  the  thought  nearly  broke  her  heart? 
Yet  for  all  that  she  was  a  true  Southern 
woman,  and  gave  her  son  ungrudgingly  in 
his  country's  defense.  She  pointed  out 
the  many  temptations  that  would  beset  him 
in  camp-life,  and  implored  him  by  the 
memory  of  his  mother  to  be  true  to  him- 
self, and  not  permit  himself  to  be  cor- 
rupted by  those  with  whom  he  Avould  be 
compelled  to  associate.  And  when  she 
had  finished,  she  put  in  his  hands  a  beau- 
tifully bound  pocket  bible,  on  which  she 
had,  in  her  own  exquisite  hand,  written  his 
name,  and  just  under  the  name  :  "  My 
son,  if  Satan  tempt  thee,  put  him  far  from 
thee."  Victor  Hart  put  his  arms  around 
his  mother's  neck  and  wept  unrestrainedly, 
for  he  was  not  ashamed  of  the  love  he 
bore  his  kind  mother,  and  after  promising 
all  she  asked  of  him,  tenderly  kissed  her 
good-night,  and  retired  to  his  room  to 
snatch  a  few  hours  of  sleep  before  morn- 
ing. 


SOCIAL    POSITION    OV   SOUTHERN    SOLDIERS.      5/ 

We  will  pass  over  the  parting,  the  tears 
and  bouquets,  and  waving  of  handker- 
chiefs, and  bands  playing,  the  shouting 
and  cheerino-  that  followed  the  fine-lookinor 

o  o 

regiment  to  the  way-side  station.  Such 
scenes  will  always  be  remembered  by 
those  who  saw  the  ''brave  soldier  boys," 
when  they  set  out  for  the  wars. 

We  all  remember  the  feeling  of  deso- 
lation that  attended  us  home,  when  our 
gallant  friends  bade  us  a  merry  adieu,  and 
we  found  ourselves  wondering  how  we 
were  to  amuse  and  occupy  our  time  dur- 
ing their  long  absence.  With  what  avidity 
we  devoured  the  newspapers  to  see  if  any 
battles  had  been  fought,  and  if  any  of 
those  whom  we  knew  were  engaged  in 
them.  When  we  think  of  all  this  now, 
the  blood  goes  bounding  through  our 
veins  with  increased  rapidity,  and  again 
we  live  over  the  pleasures  and  sorrows 
that  came  to  us  all  during  the  years  of  the 
war  that  followed.  All  the  States  re- 
sponded gallantly  to  the  call  for  troops, 
and  the  Southern  army  was  composed  of 
the  elife  of  the  South.     The  first  and  best 


58  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

young  men  from  all  the  Southern  States 
stood  in  the  ranks,  and  carried  their 
muskets  and  knapsacks,  many  a  time  with 
bare,  bleeding  feet,  hungry  and  illy  clad,  on 
long,  hard,  forced  marches  everywhere, 
over  frozen,  snowy  hills,  with  a  heroism  un- 
paralleled in  the  record  of  history.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  to-day  we  have  not  one  atom 
of  respect  for  those  who  remained  at 
home,  wrapt  in  warm  blankets  and  slept  on 
downy  pillows  ?  Yet  I  confess  the  truth  ; 
we  have  more  respect  for  those  who,  stay- 
ing at  home  out  of  harm's  reach,  although 
not  fighting  for  the  South,  yet  at  the  sam^e 
time  did  nothing  against  it,  than  for  those 
''citizens,"  who,  when  the  Yankee  bands 
began  to  play,  forgot  they  were  Southern- 
ers, and  met  the  blue-coated  invaders  in 
a  fraternal  embrace.  How  astonished 
some  of  us  were  to  see  men  whom  we 
thought  had  the  best  feeling  in  the  world 
for  the  South,  suddenly,  as  the  caterpillar 
emerges  into  a  gorgeous  butterfly,  develop 
into  a  full-blown  pink  of  Yankee  Union- 
ism. These  same  men  had  a  few  weeks 
previous  helped,  with  their  money  out  of 


SOCIAL    POSITION    OF   SOUTHERN    SOLDIERS.      59 

their  own  individual  pockets,  to  equip 
whole  companies  of  Confederate  soldiers, 
buying  army  blankets,  clothing  and  can- 
teens, and  sent  them  on  their  way  re- 
joicing, with  words  of  cheer  and  encour- 
agement, when  lo,  and  behold !  their  guns 
have  but  few  times  echoed  back  from  the 
Potomac,  when  we  find  we  have  harbored 
in  our  unsuspecting  ignorance  a  viper  that 
with  concealed  poison  is  only  awaiting  a 
suitable  opportunity  to  bury  its  fangs  in 
our  most  vital  parts. 

We  presume  there  were  ''  many  things 
dreamed  of  in  their  philosophy,"  and 
these  craven-hearted  ones  had  a  motive  in 
so  doing.      However,  let  it  pass. 

Our  boys  were  equal  to  the  emergency, 
and  showed  of  what  metal  they  were  made. 
Our  native  State,  Tennessee,  suffered  no 
loss  of  self-respect  in  those  first  years  of 
the  great  civil  conflict,  and  many  of  her 
brave  sons  lie  asleep  on  the  soil  of  Vir- 
ginia, within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  spot 
where  the  Grays  and  the  Blues  met  in 
mortal  combat,  where  the  sabres  clashed 
and  the  guns  thundered. 


60  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

The  sunshine  smiles  to-day,  and  the 
skies  have  as  tender  a  blue  as  in  the  days 
when  high  hopes  animated  us  to  brave  and 
heroic  deeds ;  yet  a  sadness  which  we 
can  not  help  tinges  our  whole  being  when 
those  olden  days  come  back  to  us  in  our 
memory. 

We  will  transcribe  a  letter  from  Victor 
Hart  to  his  sister  Marion  from  Virginia  : 

In  Camp,  July,  1861. 

Dear  Marion  :  I  know  you  are  dying  for  news  of  your 
dear,  devoted,  only  brother.  We  had  a  taste  of  fighting  at 
Manassas.  Of  course  you  have  devoured  the  newspapers 
containing  news  of  the  great  battle,  how  the  Yankees  fled 
pell  mell,  helter  skelter,  like  frightened  sheep  before  the 
*'  chivalry"  of  the  South.  If  there  is  any  music  in  the  can- 
non's roar,  we  certainly  heard  it ;  but  oh,  we  drove  them 
though!  and  I  tell  you  it  was  some  fun  to  see  the  "invinci- 
ble North"  show  the  "white  feather." 

You  were  right,  my  dear  sister,  as  I  believe  you  generally 
are,  about  Verner  Gray ;  he  is  brave  to  the  heart's  core,  and 
as  true  as  steel.  I  know  you  would  have  been  amused  at  a 
little  incident  that  happened  in  camp  not  long  ago,  soon 
after  we  came  to  Virginia.  You  know  how  fastidious  Gray 
has  always  been,  and  how  unmercifully  we  joked  him  on 
that  last  evening  at  home,  the  night  before  we  started  to  the 
wars.  Verner's  mother,  ever  thoughtful  of  her  son's  comfort 
and  his  excessive  great  regard  for  the  "purple  and  fine 
linen,"  metaphorically  speaking,  packed  in  his  valise,  among 
fine  handkerchiefs,  plenty  of  collars  and  cravats,  two  dozen 
damask  towels,  with  heavy  crimson  borders,  and  his  aristo- 


SOCIAL    POSITION    OF    SOUTHERN    SOLDIERS.     6 1 

cratic  cognomen,  "Verner  Gray,"  embroidered  in  scarlet  cot- 
ton on  the  corner  of  each  of  them,  done,  probably,  by  the 
fairy  fingers  of  some  of  Gray's  lady  friends. 

Apropos  to  that,  I  think  I  have  enough  slippers,  needle- 
books,  pin-cushions,  and  like  articles,  to  set  up  a  fancy  store, 
given  me  by  fair  friends  in  old  South  Carolina. 

Well,  as  I  was  going  on  to  relate,  one  day  as  Gray  was 
performing  his  morning  ablutions,  which  he  has  always  faith- 
fully attended  to,  (he  has  not  had  to  wash  his  own  clothes 
yet)  a  burly  Irishman  stepped  forward  and  appropriated  the 
shining  damask,  redolent  with  the  odor  of  the  ''perfume 
sachet,"  that  was  packed  with  it  in  his  valise,  to  his  own  in- 
dividual use.  The  righteous  indignation  of  Gray  was  laugh- 
able to  behold,  only  he  was  terribly  in  earnest.  I  think  he 
could  have  struck  down  the  unconscious  malefactor  where  he 
stood.  The  boys  shouted  with  glee,  until  they  made  the 
welkin  ring,  and  told  Gray  it  was  a  lesson  he  had  best  com- 
mit to  memory,  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  "private 
property"  in  camp  life.  The  little  incident  afforded  a  good 
deal  of  diversion  in  camp.  We  have  a  jolly  time  out  here, 
sure,  and  some  of  us  enjoy  it  hugely. 

A  lot  of  us  were  in  Richmond  last  week,  and  attended  a 
dance  at  the  *'  Spotswood ;"  and  hot  as  it  was,  we  danced  un- 
til three  o'clock.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  forming  the  acquain- 
tance of  a  good  many  Richmond  ladies,  and  found  them 
very  entertaining  and  cultivated.  The  ladies  are  certainly 
very  patriotically  inclined  in  regard  to  dress,  for  I  saw  ele- 
gant young  ladies  with  sweeping  trains  of  "red,  white  and 
red  "  in  silk,  while  others  simply  wore  a  shield  of  blue  satin, 
on  which  was  embroidered  in  gold,  the  seven  original  Con- 
federate States.  A  great  many  celebrities  were  present,  and 
all  rejoicing  over  the  victory,  which  really  does  not  amount 
to  a  row  of  pins.  The  hard  time  is  to  come  yet ;  but  we  will 
not  anticipate  trouble,  as  it  generally  comes  soon  enough. 

Gilbert  was  with  us  at  this  ball,  and  was  the  cynosure  of 
many  admiring  eyes.      In  every  direction  I  heard  ladies  ask- 


62  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

ing  who  the  "handsome"  young  man  was;  and  the  answer 
came  as  regularly  from  our  party,  "Gilbert  St.  Maurice;  he 
left  his  sweetheart  in  the  Palmetto  State,"  which  considera- 
bly abated  their  interest  in  him ;  but  I  know  you  would  be 
amused  to  see  some  of  our  married  men  trying  to  pass  them- 
selves off  as  single,  and  in  a  good  many  instances  they  suc- 
ceed. They  think  it  will  interfere  with  their  having  a  "good 
time"  if  it  is  known  they  are  married.  Well,  maybe  there 
is  no  harm  in  it,  but  I  confess  I  do  not  see  it  in  that  light. 
Love  to  all.     Write  soon  to  your  brother. 

Victor. 


.'* 


NEWS    FROM    CAMP,     ETC.  6 7^ 


CHAPTER   VIII, 

AN  EXTRACT  FROM  A  LETTER   FROM  VIRGINIA. 

We  make  an  extract  from  a  letter,  writ- 
ten by  Victor  Hart  to  his  sister  Marion 
two  months  later,  for  he  was  an  affection- 
ate brother  and  a  dutiful  correspondent, 
entering  largely  into  details,  which  always 
increases  the  interest  of  a  letter. 

In  the  letter  Victor  goes  on  to  say : 

''  Gilbert,  as  you  are  aware,  belongs  to  a 
band  of  ubiquitous  cavalry  that  scours  the 
country  for  miles  around,  and  leads  a  life 
full  of  stirring  scenes  and  adventures.  He 
brings  us  all  sorts  of  news,  and  many  a  time 
great  bundles  of  Northern  newspapers,  in 
which  we  learn  exactly  what  our  Northern 
friends  think  of  Southern  prowess.  They 
are  candid  enough  to  acknowledge  that 
they  have  a  "powerful  foe"  to  deal  with,  led 
and  controlled  by  such  men  as  Robert  E. 


64  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

Lee,  Jo.  Johnson,  with  Davis  at  the  head 
of  the  cabinet.  They  say  they  have 
brains  as  well  as  Southern  valor  to  con- 
tend against.  So  much  we  learn  through 
the  papers  that  Gilbert  brings  us.  Gilbert 
is  ever  in  the  saddle,  here,  there,  and  every- 
where ;  his  keen  eyes  ever  on  the  qui  vive 
for  adventure.  He  has  plenty  of  fighting  to 
do,  which,  he  declares,  warms  the  blood 
and  gives  him  an  appetite  for  his  break- 
fast. The  men  adore  him ;  and  it  i's  a  su- 
perb sight  to  see  him  ride  up  to  the  very 
mouth  of  the  cannon,  deliver  a  volley  and 
retire,  while  the  blue  coats  are  banging 
away  at  him.  The  men  declare  that  he 
bears  a  charmed  life,  for  time  and  again 
he  has  been  under  a  very  storm  of  grape 
and  canister,  that  would  blanch  your  cheek, 
and  almost  still  the  pulsations  of  your 
heart,  and  evidently  with  the  keenest  relish. 
''Well,  sister  mine,  I  believe  I  am  falling 
in  love.  You  know  when  I  left  South 
Carolina  I  was  '  heart-whole  and  fancy 
free  ;"  well,  it  is -quite  the  reverse  now  ;  a 
certain   pair    of  very   brown    eyes   and  a 


NEWS    FROM    CAMP,     ETC.  65 

cloud  of  golden  hair,  a  very  witching  ex- 
pression, nightly  distracts  my  slumbers,  in- 
asmuch as  I  lie  and  gaze  at  the  myriads 
of  summer  stars,  and  quote  to  myself 
those  beautiful  lines  of  Byron  : 

"She  walks  in  beauty  like  the  night,"  etc. 

The  young  lady  who  has  been  so  fortunate 
as  to  win  my  heart  is  the  daughter  of  a 
Confederate  official,  in  high  authority  at 
Richmond,  and  in  her  veins  flow^s  the 
''  blue  blood  "  of  the  South.  She  is  very 
popular  at  Richmond,  and  has  whole  regi- 
ments of  hearts  laid  at  her  feet  daily ;  but 
it  seems  that  your  humble  (?)  brother  is 
the  one  who  stands  highest  in  her  affec- 
tions.    But  more  anon. 

''My  kindest  regards  to  all  at  home, 
and  my  father  particularly,  and  a  thousand 
kisses  for  my  dear  mother ;  and  say  to 
her,  please,  that  I  have  obeyed  her  injunc- 
tions to  the  letter,  and  do  not  indulge  in 
any  bad  habits,  which  I  know  will  be  a 
gratification  to  her. 

"Write  soon,  and  tell  me  all  the  news 
from  home ;  and  tell  Verner's  sweetheart 


66  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

that  she  had  better  have  a  care  or  she  will 
lose  her  handsome  lover ;  he  is  making 
sad  havoc  among  the  fair  ladies  at  Rich- 
mond, and  being  something  of  a  favorite 
at  head-quarters,  he  gets  special  leave  of 
absence  and  makes  a  visit  there  nearly 
every  week.  You  know  he  has  a  great  many 
relatives  there  who  move  in  the  first  cir- 
cles, and  he  has  cultivated  an  extensive  ac- 
quaintance among  the  ladies ;  and,  to  con- 
fess the  truth,  he  does  considerable  flirting, 
which  may  be  right  or  may  be  wrong ;  it 
is  not  for  me  to  sit  in  judgment  on  a 
brother  soldier. 

''  Love  to  all,  once  more  ;  and  write  me  a 
long,  newsy  letter — everything  you  can 
think  of.  Your  loving  brother. 

''Victor  Hart." 

Victor  Hart  was  right  in  the  statement 
that  the  men  in  the  regiment  to  which 
Gilbert  St.  Maurice  belonged  adored  him. 
And  well  they  might,  for  he  was  always  on 
hand  whenever  there  was  any  fighting  to 
do ;  and  when  sickness  prostrated  the  stal- 
wart forms  of  his  brother  soldiers,  he  was 


NEWS    FROM    CAMP,    ETC.  6/ 

ever  present,  calming  the  delirious  by  the 
cool  touch  of  his  shapely  white  hand,  and 
placing  iced  cloths  on  the  sick  men's 
heads,  causing  them  to  murmur  of  run- 
ning brooks  and  green  fields,  the  scenes 
of  their  childhood  and  the  delights  and 
comforts  of  home ;  his  hand  often  sought 
the  depths  of  his  pocket  and  abstracted 
the  last  dollar  to  purchase  some  dainty  for 
the  sick  and  wounded,  which  gratification 
they  would  otherwise  have  been  compelled 
to  forego  but  for  the  generosity  of  the 
gentle  heart  w^hich  could  not  look  un- 
moved on  their  sufferings. 

We  are  not  painting  an  ideal  hero  for 
an  idle  gratification,  but  a  true,  noble- 
souled  man,  who  lived  his  life,  and  moved 
and  acted  just  as  we  are  describing  him. 

Such  was  the  true  heroism  of  soldiering, 
causing  many  an  embittered  heart  to  look 
kindly  on  their  race  in  their  last  moments 
of  intercourse  with  mankind  here.  Gilbert 
St.  Maurice  was  the  embodiment  of  that 
grandest,  purest  type  of  all  lives  —  a 
Christian  soldier.  He  it  was  that  moved 
with  noiseless  tread  among  the  suffering, 


68  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

and  administered  comfort  where  he  could, 
and  wept  bitter  tears  over  the  cold  faces 
and  eyes,  closed  in  death,  of  some  delicate 
youth,  far  away  from  home  and  on  the 
field  of  battle.  He  it  was  who  knelt  in 
the  far  midnight  and  offered  up  a  prayer 
for  the  soul  of  some  comrade  in  arms  who 
was  done  with  all  things  earthly,  and  just 
wetting  his  feet  in  the  river  of  eternity. 
And  many  a  time  on  the  solemn  night  air 
has  come  the  sound  of  St.  Maurice's  voice, 
singing  a  requiem  for  some  soul  that  was 
passing.  How  many  a  time  has  the  sounds 
of  merriment  ceased  and  the  gay  laugh 
been  hushed  in  wonder  as  that  sad  tremb- 
ling voice  rang  out  so  mournfully — a  voice 
which  was  full  of  sorrow  and  unshed  tears, 
and  which  touched  you  with  its  pathetic 
cadence  in  spite  of  yourself.  His  hand  it 
was  that  plucked  the  wild  flowers  that 
grew  in  the  woods,  and  wove  them  into 
a  chaplet  of  beauty,  and  placed  them 
above  the  grave  of  some  beloved  com- 
rade, which  kind,  delicate  attention  won 
for  him  the  soubriquet  of  the  "  man  with  a 
woman's  heart." 


NEWS    FROM    CAMP,     ETC.  69 

If  Marion  Hart  could  only  have  seen  her 
lover  on  these  errands  of  mercy,  she,  with 
her  passionate,  aesthetic  nature,  would 
have  fallen  at  his  feet  and  worshiped  him, 
as  the  Hindoo  maiden  who  pours  out  her 
life  blood  at  the  feet  of  her  idol  rod.  His 
influence — the  divine  influence  of  religion 
and  truth  which  proclaims  not  itself  from 
the  house-tops,  but  is  acted  out  in  every- 
day life — was  beginning  to  be  felt  through- 
out the  army.  How  true  it  is  that  men 
will  instinctively  respect  that  religion  which 
they  know^  is  not  false  !  Soldiers  no 
longer  indulged  in  profane  language  in  St. 
Maurice's  presence.  They  began  to  re- 
gard him  as  a  superior  being,  and,  accord- 
ingly, staid  the  hot  words  of  anger  that 
leaped  to  their  lips  in  moments  of  extreme 
provocation.  You  may  believe  it  or  not, 
but  the  majesty  of  truth  wall  assert  itself; 
and  men,  wath  a  submission  they  can  not 
help,  will  acknowledge  and  bow  before 
that  religion  which  daily  purifies  our 
thoughts  and  actions,  and  is  no  farce. 


70  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ST.     MAURICE     IS     TAKEN     PRISONER— CITIZENS 
FROM  THE  SOUTH  WHO  HAVE  TURNED  TRAI- 
TOR, COME  TO  PRISON  AND   ADVISE    HIM 
TO  DESERT  AND  GO  HOME— HE  FLAT- 
LY  REFUSES,    AND    STANDS    TRUE 
TO   HIS  COLORS. 

Marion's  lover  kept  her  fully  informed 
of  all  his  movements.  The  long  letters 
which  he  wrote  to  her,  full  of  pathos,  of 
fire  and  enthusiasm,  tempered,  as  it  were, 
with  Christian  moderation,  were  the  next 
thing  to  being  with  him.  There  is  some- 
thing pleasant  in  the  thought  of  that  heart 
communion  with  a  dearly  loved  friend, 
separated  from  you  by  weary  miles  of 
space.  How  she  poured  over  them  until 
every  word  was  engraven  on  her  memory, 
and  thought  of  the  constancy  and  devo- 
tion which  spoke  to  her  from  every  line  ! 
Strange   to    say,    her    father   never  inter- 


ST.     MAURICE    IS    TAKEN    PRISONER.  7 1 

fered,  and  paid  but  little  heed  to  the  mail 
that  came  and  went  to  his  daughter.  It 
was  a  leniency  she  had  not  expected,  and 
for  which  she  was  not  prepared.  She 
could  have  gone  on  her  bended  knees  and 
thanked  him,  such  was  the  depth  and  hu- 
mility of  this  proud  girl's  love.  When- 
ever she  saw  the  superscription  she  went 
to  the  old  spot  under  the  shadows  of  the 
giant  oaks,  and  casting  herself  on  the 
ground,  literally  devoured  the  precious 
contents. 

Once  there  came  news  that  Gilbert  St. 
Maurice  was  wounded,  and  a  prisoner  in 
the  enemy's  hands,  at  which  the  girl  nearly 
went  frantic.  For  months  he  lingered, 
faint  and  sick  and  wounded,  and  longing 
for  the  sight  of  the  loved  ones  at  home  ; 
and  yet  no  thought  of  faithlessness  to  his 
native  State,  to  his  honor  be  it  said,  ever 
sullied  his  mind.  Yet  there  were  men, 
who  were  a  disgrace  to  the  State  that  gave 
them  birth,  who  came  with  a  moral  cow- 
ardice unparalleled  in  the  history  of  na- 
tions, and  persuaded  their  poor,  weak, 
faint-hearted    sons    who    were    not   brave 


72  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

enough  to  stem  the  fiery  tide,  to  desert 
their  country's  standard  in  its  darkest 
hour  of  trial,  and  go  home.  Think  of  it, 
oh,  false-hearted  fathers,  and  may  a  blush 
of  shame  stain  your  cheeks  to  crimson, 
even  at  this  late  hour ! 

The  insidious  voice  of  the  tempter  tried 
to  whisper  in  the  ear  of  St.  Maurice  that 
the  South' s  days  of  victory  were  over,  and 
that  it  was  only  a  ''question  of  time,"  and 
an  "  unnecessary  lengthening  of  the  bloody 
contest,  for  them  to  remain  longer  in  the 
ranks  ;"  to  come  and  go  with  them,  while 
a  magnanimous  enemy  ''awaited  them 
with  open  arms."  We  all  remember  how 
it  was,  and  can  not  wonder  that  the  ban- 
ner of  the  South  rested  under  a  shadow 
and  a  cloud,  while  thousands  of  her  sworn 
allies  were  daily  deserting  to  the  enemy, 
who  sang  triumphant  paeans  over  the  de- 
gradation of  their  opponents.  But  St. 
Maurice  had  no  idea  of  playing  a  second 
edition  of  the  prodigal  son  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  future  generations.  He  scorn- 
fully drove  the  tempter  from  him,  and  told 
him  to  "go  back  to  his  Yankee   friends, 


ST,    MAURICE    IS   TAKEN    PRISONER.  73 

and,  if  need  be,  hug  them  to  his  bosom, 
and  dine  on  the  fatted  calf,  if  it  suited  his 
fancy;  that  in  casting  his  fortune  with  the 
South,  he  intended  to  remain  unto  the  end, 
even  if  that  end  lead  unto  death."  Prin- 
ciple governed  him  in  his  motives,  and  ac- 
tuated him  in  his  conduct,  and  it  was 
proven  to  the  world  that  such  a  quality 
did  actually  exist  even  in  this  age  of  cor- 
ruption and  iniquity. 

St.  Maurice  at  last  grew  better,  and,  as 
his  strength  returned,  was  regularly  ex- 
changed, and  once  more  entered  on  the 
old  life  he  had  loved  so  well,  with  renewed 
vigor,  in  a  distant  field. 

One  day,  not  long  before  St.  Maurice 
left  prison,  as  he  was  taking  a  breath  of 
fresh  air  in  the  allotted  inclosure,  a  tiny 
note,  written  on  delicately-tinted  French 
paper,  fragrant  with  the  odor  of  violets,  and 
written  in  a  faint  Italian  hand,  fluttered  at 
his  feet,  bearing  his  superscription.  It 
might  have  been  blown  there  by  the  wind  ; 
it  was  impossible  to  tell  where  it  came 
from.  It  contained  the  following  defiant 
lines,  and   to  the   day   of  his   death  St. 


74  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

Maurice  never  knew  where  it  came  from. 
The  paper  ran  thus  : 

"Gilbert  St.  Maurice — I  know  of  you,  but  you  may 
never  know  me;  but  for  the  sake  of  the  "red  cross  flag,"  be 
true  to  yourself,  and  do  not  let  those  craven-hearted  ciilzens 
bring  everlasting  disgrace  on  your  head.  They  have  come 
here  for  the  purpose  of  depriving  the  South  of  her  soldiers 
in  this  her  darkest  hour.  Drive  them  from  you,  for  <  behind 
the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining.' 

"N'Importe." 

St.  Maurice  read  and  re-read  the  words 
of  cheer  that  floated  so  mysteriously  to 
his  feet,  and  yet  he  had  no  clue  to  the  un- 
known writer.  He  folded  the  precious 
paper,  so  romantically  conveyed  to  him, 
among  other  written  treasures,  and  it  was 
found  in  his  trunk  after  his  death. 


Forrest's  raid  on  murfreesboro.        75 


CHAPTER  X. 

VICTOR   IS   TRANSFERRED   TO    MIDDLE  TENNES- 
SEE—ST. MAURICE  GETS  A  TRANSFER   TO  BE 
WITH  HIS  FRIEND— THE  BATTLE  OF  RICH- 
MOND—TERRYVILLE,    KENTUCKY- 
FORREST'S  RAID  ON  MUR- 
FREESBORO. 

In  the  meantime  Victor  Hart  had  been 
transferred  from  the  Army  of  Northern 
Virginia  to  the  Army  of  Middle  Tennes- 
see. St.  Maurice,  returning  to  Virginia 
and  finding  his  friend  gone,  applied  to 
headquarters,  where  he  was  personally 
well  known  and  a  great  favorite,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a  position  on  the  staff  of 
a  general  of  considerable  distinction  in  the 
same  division  of  his  friend  Hart,  who  had 
been  promoted,  for  gallantry  on  the  field, 
to  the  rank  of  major,  and  now  we  find 
them  with  the  army  of  Bragg,  which  had 
entered  Kentucky,  and  fought  the  battles 


76  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 

of  Richmond  and  Perryville,  and  now  was 
falling  back  with  the  loss  of  many  gallant 
Tennesseans.  Wharton,  Wendel,  and 
Butler  had  slept  the  sleep  of  the  brave  at 
Richmond,  Kentucky;  Colonel  John  Pat- 
terson, of  the  fearless  ''Rock  City  Guards," 
fell  fighting  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment  at  Perryville ;  poor  John  Pendle- 
ton had  his  head  blown  off  by  a  cannon 
ball,  so  that  his  friends  with  difficulty  rec- 
ognized his  body  where  it  was  found  after 
the  battle  was  over.  And  then  Bragg 
was  falling  back — the  same  old  story. 
When  did  we  ever  have  a  victory  and 
were  able  to  hold  the  ground?  We  put 
our  enemies  to  flight,  we  scattered  them 
in  confusion,  and  we  fancied  we  had  gained 
a  mighty  victory,  but  they  came  with  re- 
newed forces — with  thrice  as  many  as  be- 
fore— and  we  were  compelled  to  ''fall 
back,"  until  the  very  sound  of  the  words 
made  us  sick.  One  ray  of  hope  brightened 
our  gloomy  prospects  in  Middle  Tennes- 
see. Buell  was  also  falling  back  ;  and  just 
before  his  army  reached  Murfreesboro, 
there   occurred   one  of  the  most  brilliant 


FORREST'S   RAID   ON    MURFREESBORO.  ^^ 

cavalry  dashes  of  the  war.  And  even 
though  we  should  live  a  hundred  years, 
the  very  recollection  would  quicken  our 
pulses  and  send  a  thrill  through  our  whole 
being. 

The  thirteenth  of  July,  1862,  dawned  as 
lovely  a  Sabbath  as  we  ever  saw.     The 
citizens   of    Murfreesboro   were   sleeping 
peacefully  and  dreaming  of  their  absent 
friends,  when  suddenly  the  holy  stillness 
of  the  morning  was  broken  by  triumphant 
shouts,    the  tramp    of    cavalry,    and    the 
rattle  of  musketry !     We  sprang  from  our 
beds  and  rushed  to  the  windows  to  see 
the  streets  full  of  gray-coated,  dusty  cav- 
alrymen, who,  under  the  leadership  of  the 
fearless    Forrest,    had    ridden    hard   and 
long  for  Murfreesboro,  while  bang !  bang  ! 
bang !  was  heard  in  every  direction.     The 
glad  cry  of  ''our  boys  have  come"  rang 
from  one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other, 
and   staid,  elderly  citizens  clapped  their 
hands  in  delight  and  welcomed  gladly  our 
deliverers.      Some    of    the    ladies    were 
frantic,    which  amused  the    soldiers  very 
much. 


78  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

We  feel  that  our  pen  is  Inadequate  to 
do  justice  to  the  scene,  and  we  ask  you, 
old  citizens  of  Murfreesboro,  was  not  that 
day,  when  the  rebels  burst  so  suddenly 
upon  you,  the  happiest  day  you  ever  ex- 
perienced during  the  war?  I  think  you 
will  answer  ''Yes,"  that  the  unexpected 
sight  of  the  boys  in  gray  was  the  most  re- 
freshing sight  that  had  gladdened  your 
eyes  for  many  a  weary  day.  Well  we 
m.ight  be  delighted ;  for  many  months 
since  the  fall  of  Fort  Donelson,  we  had 
seen  nothing  save  Yankees — coming,  go- 
ing, riding  and  walking.  They  enjoyed 
themselves  in  fancied  security,  and  some 
of  them  had  commenced  to  build  for 
themselves  comfortable  winter  quarters, 
thinking  they  had  come  to  Murfreesboro 
to  stay  forever.  Others  gathered  black- 
berries to  sell,  and  it  was  no  uncommon 
thing  to  see  one  of  those  gallant  defend- 
ers of  the  ''stars  and  stripes"  present 
himself  at  our  back-doors  with  a  bucket 
full  of  luscious  berries,  for  which  he  only 
asked  the  small  sum  of  a  "  quarter."  We 
wish  we  could    commit  to  print  the  inimi- 


FORREST  S    RAID   ON    MURFREESBORO.  79 

tabic  Yankee  brogue  with  which  they 
pronounced  the  word  ''quarter."  We 
will  leave  that  to  the  imagination  of  all 
those  familiar  with  the  Yankee  dialect. 

But  to  return  to  the  "raiders."  For- 
rest had  just  received  his  commission  as 
brigadier  general,  and  made  straightway 
for  Murfreesboro.  May  God  bless  him 
to-day,  wherever  he  may  be,  and  the  gal- 
lant heroes  of  the  old  Thirteenth. 

The  whole  affair  was  a  decided  surprise, 
and  reflects  infinite  credit  on  those  who 
planned  the  raid.  The  Confederacy  had 
no  braver,  more  gallant  man  than  Captain 
Ed.  Arnold,  who  came  in  advance  and  cap- 
tured the  pickets  asleep  on  their  posts,  in 
fancied  security,  without  a  gun  being  fired. 
After  the  capture  of  the  out-p03t  pickets 
there  was  no  obstacle  in  the  way.  Captain 
Arnold,  with  Wharton  at  the  head  of  his 
brave  Texas  Rangers  and  Tennesseans, 
made  a  dash  at  the  Ninth  Michio-an,  which 
was  camping  near  Maney's  Spring,  and 
rode  headlong  into  camp  over  everything, 
and  found  the  blue  coats  fast  asleep ! 
What  could  they  do  but  show  the  "white 


80  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE, 

feather*'  to  the  ''ragged  Rebels,  with  their 
tan-bark  coats  and  three-dollar  shot-guns," 
as  they,  the  Yankees,  were  facetiously 
pleased  to  style  them.  The  loss  on  the 
Southern  side  was  very  small,  although 
several  of  the  Ninth  Michigan  were  shot 
asleep.  Five  or  six  negroes  were  killed. 
We  will  always  remember  a  remark  made 
by  a  lady  acquaintance,  in  whose  company 
we  visited  the  battle-ground  that  same  af- 
ternoon. When  she  saw  the  dead  ne- 
groes lying  scattered  around  she  said : 
''  There,  now,  negroes,  if  you  had  staid  at 
home  with  your  masters,  where  you  be- 
longed, you  might  be  living  now." 

The  only  especial  loss  on  the  Southern 
side  was  at  the  court-house,  which  was 
the  only  place  that  the  cowards  made  any 
effort  to  protect  themselves,  as  they  fired 
from  behind  the  brick  walls,  through  the 
windows,  at  the  raiders,  and  never  surren- 
dered until  the  lower  part  of  the  court- 
house was  set  on  fire,  they,  thinking  that 
the  day  of  their  doom  had  come  too  soon, 
waved  a  white  flag  and  surrendered  too. 
In  the  meantime  a  detachment  of  rebels 


Forrest's  raid  on  murfreesboro.        8i 

had  gone  to  the  depot  and  set  it  on  fire, 
and  burned  up  all  the  Yankee  commissa- 
ries which  were  stored  away  there.  From 
the  burning  depot  the  St.  Charles  Hotel 
caught  fire,  and,  if  we  remember  correctly, 
everything  belonging  to  the  proprietor 
was  consumed.  It  was  kept  by  Mr.  Charles 
Watts,  who  was  a  clever  man  and  a  staunch 
Rebel,  and  was  quite  a  loss  to  him. 

There  were  a  good  many  Yankees,  who 
were  either  sleeping  or  escaped  from  their 
commands,  took  refuge  in  houses  all  over 
town ;  and  it  was  dangerous  for  a  citizen 
to  show  himself  on  the  street,  for  they 
would  bang  away  at  them  as  soon  as  they 
came  in  range.  There  was  one  citizen, 
Mr.  Nesbitt,  an  old  gentleman,  killed  on 
the  square,  and  one  or  two  others  badly 
wounded  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town — 
done  in  wanton  malice,  for  which  there 
could  possibly  be  no  excuse. 

The  Yankee  force  at  Murfreesboro  con- 
sisted of  the  Ninth  Michigan  and  First 
Minnesota  regiments,  and  Hewitt's  Ken- 
tucky battery.  The  officers  of  the  two 
regiments  had  bitterly  quarreled,  and  were 


82  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

not  camping  together  at  the  time  of  the 
raid,  which  made  them  the  easy  prey  of 
the  Confederates.  As  they  were  separated, 
they  consequently  did  less  towards  pro- 
tecting themselves,  when  retribution  came 
in  the  shape  of  the  enraged  Rebels.  Some 
of  the  Yankees  had  shown  a  grreat  deal  of 
tyranny  in  their  authority  over  the  citizens, 
for  which  they  were  paid  back  with  inter- 
est. 

By  one  o'clock  the  whole  Yankee  force, 
including  everything,  First  Minnesota 
and  all,  had  surrendered  to  their  inferiors 
in  numbers  by  several  hundred.  Forrest 
had  played  his  game  with  splendid  tact, 
and  borne  flying  colors  from  the  field,  for 
which  we  shall  honor  him  to  the  day  of 
his  death.  Forrest  had  only  six  hundred 
men  in  all,  and  about  three  hundred  en- 
gaged in  the  battle,  while  the  other  three 
hundred  were  scattered  around  to  protect 
the  flanks.  Captain  Fred.  James,  a  gallan^ 
Tennessean,  led  General  Forrest  into  the 
First  Minnesota  camp  about  a  mile  below 
town  on  the  Nashville  Pike.  General 
Forrest  maneuvered   splendidly.     He  ar- 


FORREST'S    RAID    ON    MURFREESBORO.  83 

ranged  about  a  half-dozen  regimental 
(lags  at  intervals  through  the  woods,  which 
deceived  the  Yankees  and  made  them  be- 
lieve that  there  were  so  many  more  Rebels 
than  there  really  were.  So  this  three  hun- 
dred men  captured  five  or  six  times  their 
own  number,  and  gained  a  splendid  vic- 
tory. 


84  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BRAVERY  OF  COL.  LANTON  AND  HIS  GALLANT 
GEORGIANS. 

There  is  one  gray-haired,  distinguished 
cavalry  officer,  who  now  resides  in  Macon, 
Ga.,  that  bore  a  conspicuous  part  in  that 
brilHant  raid  on  Murfreesboro  on  the  13th 
July,  1862. 

The  Lantons  are  one  of  the  oldest  and 
most  aristocratic  families  in  Georgia,  and 
the  gallant  part  sustained  by  the  Rebel 
Colonel  on  that  memorable  occasion  added 
one  more  laurel  to  the  wreath  of  brilliant 
deeds  which  had  already  encircled  the 
brow  of  his  proud  native  State. 

The  Second  Georgia  Cavalry,  armed 
with  only  shot-guns,  at  noon  on  the  1 2th, 
while  encamped  six  or  eight  miles  from 
McMinnville,  received  orders  to  select 
three  hundred  picked  men,  and  leave  the 
balance  of  the  command  under  the  gallant 
Major  Whaley. 


BRAVERY    OF   COL.    LANTON.  8$ 

With  these  three  hundred  men  Col. 
Lanton  joined  Col.  Wharton,  of  the  Texas 
Rangers,  with  almost  an  equal  number  of 
men  and  about  seventy-five  men  of  a  Ken- 
tucky battalion,  and  a  part  of  the  First 
Georgia  Regiment,  comprising  in  all  less 
than  eight  hundred  men.  At  one  o'clock 
they  were  en  route  for  some  unknown 
point,  the  men  fresh  and  eager  for  the 
sport.  At  a  village  about  twenty  miles  from 
Murfreesboro  they  dismounted  to  refresh 
themselves. 

General  Forrest  called  up  the  command- 
ing officers  and  informed  them  that  the 
13th  of  July  was  his  birthday,  and  he 
wanted  to  celebrate  it  by  the  capture  of 
Murfreesboro,  which  he  represented  to  be 
garrisoned  by  about  three  hundred  men. 

That  night  at  three  o'clock  the  command 
reached  a  point  about  four  miles  from 
Murfreesboro.  Here  they  made  a  halt,  to 
enable  a  small  advance  guard  to  go  for- 
ward and  capture  the  pickets.  Col. 
Wharton  stretched  himself  at  full  length 
on  the  ground  and  snatched  a  few  moments 
of  rest,    while   Col.  Lanton  retired  a  few 


86  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

Steps  into  the  thick  forest  and  communed 
with  nature's  God. 

Bang  !  went  the  guns  at  the  picket  post, 
and  ''Mount!  forw^ard!"  came  in  impetu- 
ous tones  from  Forrest  to  the  eager,  pant- 
ing Rebels;  As  before  described,  Whar- 
ton dashed  in  the  Ninth  Michigan  camp, 
while  Lanton  went  forward  to  that  most 
dangerous  spot  of  all,  the  court-house,  and 
lost  many  of  his  bravest  and  best  men, 
•where  the  cowards  fired  from  behind  the 
court-house  walls ;  and  when  Lanton  rode 
into  the  street  the  entire  provost  guards 
fired  at  him,  but  amid  that  storm  of  bullets 
the  grand,  old  soldier  came  out  unharmed. 
As  before  stated,  they  never  surrendered 
until  the  court-house  was  set  on  fire. 

Lanton  next  went  to  the  Minnesota 
camp,  supported  by  Hewitt's  Kentucky 
battery  of  four  guns.  Forrest  ordered 
them  to  stand  until  he  could  attack  in  the 
rear.  Thus  for  two  hours  did  Lanton 
hold  his  men  in  line  while  the  artillery 
were  playing  on  them.  Despairing  of 
his  General's  attack  in  the  rear,  Lanton 
ordered  his  Adjutant  Major,  R.  F.  Lanton, 


BRAVERY    OF    COL.     LANTON.  8/ 

to  charge  the  enemy,  which  was  no  sooner 
said  than  the  men  pressed  forward  with 
cheers  and  put  them  to  flight,  driving  them 
back  to  their  old  position. 

Soon  after  Forrest  came  up  and  ordered 
our  troops  back  into  town,  when  CoL 
Lanton  proposed  to  him  to  see  how  a 
demand  for  surrender  would  be  received. 
^  Col.  Lanton  drew  up  a  demand  for  sur- 
*  render  in  Col.  Ready's  office.  In  it  was 
stated  that  the  Yankees  must  be  aware  of 
the  overpowering  forces  under  command 
of  Forrest,  and  they  (the  Rebels)  wished 
to  prevent  an  unnecessary  shedding  of 
blood.  Vanberger,  Lanton's  courier,  soon 
was  on  his  way  to  Parkhurst's  camp,  and 
less  than  forty-five  minutes  had  elapsed 
when  an  unconditional  surrender  came 
from  the  camp. 

As  before  stated  the  two  commands 
were  camping  some  distance  apart,  and 
Lanton  drew  up  his  men  in  as  formidable 
manner  as  possible  and  sent  the  white 
flag  into  the  Minnesota  camp. 

While  the  messenger  was  gone,  Col. 
Lanton  again  retired  and  asked  the  bless- 


88  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

ing  of  God  on  his  command,  and  when  the 
second  surrender  came  the  ''  boys  in  gray  " 
made  the  welkin  ring  with  shouts  of 
triumph. 


St^' 


SURRENDER    OF   GEN.    CRITTENDEN,    ETC.       89 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PRIVATE    CITIZENS     HELD     AS    HOSTAGES     FOR 
SOME  OF  THE  MISSING   YANKEES— THE  PRIS- 
ONERS IN  LINE  OF  MARCH  FOR  M'MINN- 
VILLE— THE  SURRENDER  OF  GENERAL 
TOM  CRITTENDEN,  OF  THE  FEDERAL 
ARMY,  TO  MRS.  HAGAN— HOW  AND 
WHERE  CAPTAIN  ROUNDS  WAS 
TAKEN,  WITH  GENERAL  IN- 
CIDENTS OF  CAPTURE. 

The  court-house  or  the  jail  was  full  of 
private  citizens  who  had  been  arrested  and 
dragged  from  their  homes  in  consequence 
of  some  of  the  ''blue-birds  "  mysteriously 
disappearing  and  their  lords  and  masters 
ignorant  of  their  whereabouts.  They 
were  released  and  went  on  their  way  re- 
joicing at  their  lucky  escape. 

We  will  relate  a  little  incident,  at  the 
suggestion  of  an  acquaintance,  in  regard 
to  the  citizen  prisoners.     It  was  said  that 


QO  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

among  the  Incarcerated  citizens,  there  was 
one,  a  worthy  old  Baptist  preacher,  In- 
tensely pious,  and  with  great  faith  in 
prayer.  So  this  worthy  said  to  his  fellow- 
prisoners,  who  felt  quite  despondent  and 
gloomy  over  their  present  situation : 
''Friends,  we  will  try  the  efficacy  of 
prayer;"  and  kneeling  in  their  midst  he 
prayed  to  be  delivered  from  the  hands  of 
the  Philistines,  and  continued  to  pray  until 
he  heard  the  tramp  of  Forrest's  cavalry, 
and  then  he  jumped  up  and  shouted. 

The  crowning  incident  of  cowardice 
was  the  surrender  of  General  Tom  Crit- 
tenden to  Mrs.  Hagan,  who  handed  him 
over  to  the  Rebels. 

Mrs.  Hagan,  who  was  a  noted  Rebel, 
and  the  wife  of  a  Southern  soldier,  kept 
a  boarding-house  at  the  old  ''  Spence 
House,"  on  the  square,  which  was  usually 
filled  with  Yankee  officers.  This  General 
Crittenden  had  only  arrived  a  day  or  two 
before  the  raid.  He  had  come  to  Mur- 
freesboro  for  the  purpose  of  assuming 
command  of  the  force  stationed  there, 
but  had  not  yet  gone  out  to  camp.     He 


SURRENDER    OF   GEN.    CRITTENDEN,    ETC.       QI 

had  heard  of  the  intense  Southernism  of 
the  citizens,  so  he  assumed  quite  a  pomp- 
ous air,  and  was  heard  to  make  the  re- 
mark that  the  "  citizens  here  had  been  al- 
lowed too  many  liberties  ;  they  had  not 
been  ruled  half  tight  enough ;  that  we 
were  not  worthy  the  air  we  breathed; 
that  bread  and  zuater  would  be  too  good 
for  us,  and  that  he,  General  Crittenden, 
would  show  us  what  a  tight  rein  he  would 
draw  over  us,"  etc.;  but  it  is  said  that  ''the 
ways  of  men  and  mice  gang  aft  aglee." 

When  General  Crittenden  heard  the 
melee,  the  hubbub,  the  uproar  on  the 
square,  his  excited  imagination  magnified 
the  small  handful  of  raiders  into  tejis  of 
thousands  of  avenging  foes,  and  his  terror 
knew  no  bounds. 

"  But  hark !  that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat ; 
And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before ; 

Arm  !  arm!  it  is — it  is  the  cannon's  opening  roar !" 

Mrs.  Hagan  was  startled  to  hear  a  "tap- 
ping, tapping,  at  her  door,"  and  a  voice 
beseeching  in  the  most  piteous  accents 
ever  heard  or  imagined,  saying :   ''  Let  me 


92  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

in !  It  is  I,  General  Crittenden  ;  save  me, 
madam,  from  the  fury  of  these  Rebels." 

**  And  then  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste  the  steed, 

The  mustering  squadron,  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 

And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war ; 

And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal  afar, 
And  near  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum, 

Roused  up  the  soldier,  ere  the  morning  star ; 
While  thronged  the  Yankees,  with  terror  dumb. 

Or  whispering  with  white  lips — the  Rebels ! 
They  come !     They  come !" 

And  standing  there  in  the  uncertain 
light  of  the  morning  was  a  general  of  the 
United  States  army,  knocking  and  begging 
at  a  woman's  door  for  protection,  which 
was  a  sample  of  the  Union  defender's 
bravery.  Mrs.  Hagan,  delighted  to  her 
heart's  core  with  the  advent  of  the  Rebels, 
preached  the  General  a  sermon,  and  told 
him  that  the  ''  foe"  was  coming  from  the 
East,  from  the  West,  from  the  North,  from 
the  South,  in  great  gray  clouds,  until  the 
scared  General  cried  out  frantically  ;  ''  Sur- 
render me,  madam !  Save  my  life !  Wave 
your  handkerchief!"  And  Mrs.  Hagan 
received  General  Crittenden's  sword,  and 
waved  her  handkerchief,  and  he  was  de- 


SURRENDER    OF   GEN.    CRITTENDEN,    ETC.       93 

livered  over  to  the  Rebels.  Thus  it  be- 
longs to  a  woman  the  honor  (only  we  can 
not  see  where  the  honor  comes  in)  of 
having  received  the  surrender  of  a  general 
of  the  United  States  army. 

Well,  as  we  have  said,  the  whole  force 
were  prisoners  in  Forrest's  hands.  It  was 
a  splendid  sight,  we  assure  you — that  long 
line  of  elegantly  dressed  and  equipped 
Yankee  officers  and  soldiers,  mortified  by 
defeat  and  covered  with  humiliation,  riding 
so  submissively  along,  attended  by  the 
dusty  Confederates,  up  Main  Street,  en 
route  for  McMinnville  to  be  paroled  and 
sent  back.  Oh,  they  felt  the  sting,  we  as- 
sure you,  and  will  feel  it  now,  if  their 
eyes  should  ever  light  on  these  pages. 

Nearly  twelve  long  years  have  come  and 
gone  since  that  summer  afternoon,  when 
we  made  merry  at  the  expense  of  the  cap- 
tured Yankees,  and  to-day  we  feel  as  much 
enthusiasm  at  the  recollection  as  we  did 
in  the  reality. 

Who  can  give  a  war-whoop  like  the 
Texas  Rangers,  with  their  broad  Mexican 
hats  and  clanking  spurs,  that  jingled  at 


94  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

every  step.  It  made  the  Yankees  dream 
of  Pandemonium  itself,  and  struck  terror 
to  their  hearts ;  for  they  fancied  the 
''  Rangers"  were  demons  in  soldiers'  uni- 
forms, and  hardly  expected  to  escape  with 
their  lives  when  once  in  their  hands. 

Again,  may  God  bless  Forrest  and  the 
gallant  heroes  who  relieved  us  from  op- 
pression, for  a  few  days,  at  least,  in  July  of 
the  good  year  1862.  All  honor  to  the 
heroes  of  the  old  Thirteenth !  We  must 
relate  a  little  incident  that  occurred  on  the 
same  afternoon. 

A  Texas  Ranger  had  captured  and  ar- 
rayed himself  in  a  fancy  black  velvet 
jacket,  gaily  embroidered  with  silver 
thread,  and  said  to  have  been  the  prop- 
erty of  General  Crittenden,  the  one  who 
surrendered  to  Mrs.  Hagan.  He  rode  by 
us  on  Main  street,  in  front  of  Colonel 
Ready's  residence,  holding  in  his  right 
hand  a  magnificent  flag  of  "  stars  and 
stripes."  We,  the  young  ladies,  cried  out 
to  him,  ''Trail  it  in  the  dust!  Parkhurst 
trailed  ours  !"  And  the  Ranger  bent 
down  and  swept  the  emblem  of  the  impe- 


SURRENDER    OF   GEN.    CRITTENDEN,    ETC.       95 

rial  g-overnment  at  Washington  in  the 
dust  of  the  streets,  which  was  many  inches 
thick,  until  it  bore  but  a  faint  resemblance 
to  the  gay  banner  that  had  waved  at  the 
head  of  some  thieving  Yankee  regiment. 
That  was  glory  enough  for  us.  We  had 
bided  our  time  and  had  our  revenge  at 
last : — 

"For  there  never  yet  was  human  power, 
Which  could  evade,  if  unforgiven. 
The  patient  search,  the  vigil  long. 
Of  him  who  treasured  up  a  wrong." 

It  will  be  necessary  to  explain  our 
meaning.  Some  weeks  previous  to  this 
the  gallant  Lieutenant  Colonel  Parkhurst, 
of  Ninth  Michigan  fame  (?),  had,  with  a 
few  picked  followers,  (or,  it  may  be,  the 
whole  Yankee  regiment,)  gone  on  a 
marauding  expedition  in  the  direction  of 
Fosterville ;  had  captured  two  or  three 
decrepid  old  negroes,  some  gray-haired 
citizens,  and  a  small  Confederate  flag, 
probably  the  plaything  of  some  child. 
Well,  this  gallant  son  of  Mars  —  this 
brave  defender  of  a  nation's  insulted 
standard — this   son    of  darkness    actually 


96  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

tied  this  same  Confederate  flag  around  his 
waist  with  a  cord  and  dragged  it  through 
the  streets  of  Murfreesboro  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1862.  Had  he  won  it  on  a  battle- 
field from  a  defeated  enemy,  he  might 
have  with  more  propriety  thus  shown  his 
contempt  for  those  whom  he  affected  to 
despise  ;  but  when  we  remember  he  be- 
came possessed  of  it  in  an  old,  dismantled 
corn  C7'ib,  we  confess  we  fail  to  see  the 
glory  of  it. 

Facts  are  stubborn  things,  and  speak 
for  themselves.  Little  did  Colonel  Park- 
hurst  think  that  his  flag  was  to  be  trailed 
in  the  streets  of  Murfreesboro,  the  scene 
of  his  former  triumphs,  and  that  his  was  to 
be  a  defeat  more  ignominious  than  any 
that  had  ever  digraced  an  army  before. 

Colonel  Parkhurst,  wherever  you  are 
to-day,  have  you  any  curiosity  to  know 
who  stole  your  horse,  that  handsome  ani- 
mal, so  superbly  caparisoned,  where  it 
stood,  tied  to  a  tree,  at  the  hour  of  one, 
on  the  night  previous  to  your  capture, 
in  front  of  a  house  where  you  held  court 
several   evenings  of  each  week    of  your 


SURRENDER    OF    GEN.     CRITTENDEN,     ETC.       97 

Stay  in  Murfreesboro  ?  That  horse  bore  a 
gallant  rider  through  your  lines,  and  one 
more  soldier  enlisted  under  the  banner 
that  waved  over  Dixie. 

And  Captain  Rounds,  our  provost  mar- 
shal !  If  you  could  only  have  seen  him 
with  his  airs  and  graces  so  gaily  riding  up 
and  down  the  streets  on  Mr.  Menefee's 
fine  gray  horse,  which  he  was  so  kind  as  to 
relieve  him  of  when  he  first  came  to  Mur- 
freesboro, (the  captain  being  something 
of  a  connoisseur  in  horse-flesh)  and  for 
which  theft  or  appropriation  Mr.  Menefee 
has  not  yet  found  it  in  his  heart  to  forgive 
him !  With  what  an  air  he  used  to  issue 
his  orders  to  the  citizens !  The  Czar  of 
Russia  could  not  have  spoken  with  greater 
pomposity  than  did  Captain  Rounds  to  the 
citizens.  In  thee  was  the  old  adage  veri- 
fied, that  ''pride  goeth  before  destruction, 
and  a  haughty  spirit  before  a  fall."  Would 
yoii  like  for  your  Northern  friends  to 
know  how  and  where  you  were  captured 
on  the  thirteenth  of  July,  1862?  Tradi- 
tion hath  it  thus — softly,  softly — that,  coat- 
less   and  shoeless,   when  the   thunder  of 


98  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

Forrest's  guns  reached  your  ears,  you 
crouched,  shivering  and  struck  dumb  with 
fear,  on  the  floor,  under  the  bed,  in  the 
house  of  a  citizen !  When  the  Rebel  sol- 
diers dragged  you  forth  perforce,  shouting 
and  laughing  all  the  while,  from  under  the 
bed,  you  cowered  in  abject  terror  and 
begged  for  mercy.  If  we  remember  cor- 
rectly, they  gave  you  no  time  to  get  your 
hat,  and  so  the  haughty  monarch.  Captain 
Rounds,  rode  out  Main  Street,  chapeauless, 
until  a  citizen,  who  pitied  him  because  he 
looked  so  white  and  sick  and  scared,  went 
into  the  street  and  gave  him  a  new  straw 
hat,  and  the  captain  remembering  his 
manners  thanked  the  citizen,  and  the  citi- 
zen, not  forgetting  the  cursing  he  had  got- 
ten from  Captain  Rounds  the  day  before 
(Saturday)  jerked  out,  shortly, ''  no  thanks, 
sir. 

Verily  the  "mill  of  the  gods  grinds 
slowly,  but  it  grinds  surely."  Tell  it  to 
your  Northern  friends  to-day,  if  you  con- 
sider it  a  feather  in  your  cap. 

We  had  not  intended  to  be  so  explicit ; 
but   old-time    memories    possess  us,   and 


SURRENDER    OF    GEN.     CRITTENDEN,     ETC.       99 

when  once  commenced  we  know  not 
where  to  stop.  The  stately  step  of  the 
historian  has  passed  over  in  silence  these 
minor  details,  these  lights  and  shades  so 
essential  in  coloring  a  picture,  and  treated 
only  of  the  great  events  and  battles  of  the 
war,  leaving  to  a  less  worthy  pen  to  re- 
cord the  minutiae. 


lOO  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    ENTRANCE    OF    NELSON'S     DIVISION    INTO 
MURFREESBORO— THE  BURNING  OF  COLONEL 
ROBERT  JETTON'S  RESIDENCE  ON  THE  FOL- 
LOWING THURSDAY  AFTER  THE  RAID— 
THE  FALLING  BACK  OF  BUELL— THE 
OCCUPATION  OF  MURFREESBORO  BY 
BRAGG'S  ARMY  IN  THE  FALL 
OF  1862. 

Our  deliverance  from  oppression  was  of 
brief  duration.  On  the  following  Thurs- 
day Nelson's  division  of  Buell's  army  en- 
tered and  occupied  the  town  of  Murfrees- 
boro  for  a  few  days.  It  is  said  that  in  the 
grave  the  remembrance  of  the  bitterest 
wrongs  are  buried,  and  the  most  vindic- 
tive cease  to  thirst  for  vengeance.  Yet 
General  Nelson,  in  the  national  uniform  of 
blue,  was  the  incarnation  of  all  that  was 
coarse  and  cruel  and  brutal  in  human  na- 
ture ;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  "  after  life's 


FALLING  BACK  OF  BUELL,  ETC.       lOI 

fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well."  A  pistol  shot 
from  the  hands  of  the  Federal  General 
Jeff  Davis,  at  the  Gait  House  in  Louis- 
ville, finally  ended  his  career. 

The  night  that  Nelson's  men  came  in 
town,  on  some  pretext,  we  know  not  what, 
there  went  out  from  town  a  body  of  cav- 
alry to  the  residence  of  Colonel  Robert 
Jetton,  a  wealthy  and  influential  citizen 
near  town,  and  wantonly  set  fire  to  and 
destroyed  his  entire  household  posses- 
sions, containing  the  old  family  portraits 
and  the  accumulated  relics  of  years.  We 
gazed  in  terror  at  the  flames  which  lighted 
up  the  whole  surrounding  country,  and 
thought  bitterly  our  time  might  be  next. 
They  fired  through  the  windows  at  the  in- 
offensive inmates,  and  Colonel  Jetton 
crawled  away  in  the  darkness  through  the 
damp  weeds  and  grass,  and  escaped 
through  the  Yankee  lines.  Colonel  Jet- 
ton had  several  thousand  dollars  in  money 
in  his  house,  and  it  is  supposed  that  they 
got  it,  and  after  helping  themselves  to 
whatever  struck  their  fancy,  they  left  it  to 
its  fate. 


:02  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 


Such  are  the  vicissitudes  of  war.  They 
were  enraged  at  the  capture  of  their  sol- 
diers by  Forrest,  and  sought  their  revenge 
in  that  way,  approved  and  sanctioned  by 
those  in  authority ;  for  we  never  heard  of 
any  of  them  being  arrested  for  it,  or  being 
punished  in  any  way  on  that  account. 

The  Yankees  were  falHng  back,  and  by 
the  next  Sunday  not  a  blue  coat  was  to  be 
seen.  There  were  several  Texas  Rangers 
and  a  few  Georgians  wounded  and  left  in 
the  hands  of  the  citizens  ;  and  every  citi- 
zen who  did  not  get  a  wounded  soldier 
(Southern)  to  pet  and  make  much  of,  felt 
slighted.  For  several  weeks  Murfrees- 
boro  might  have,  with  propriety,  been 
likened  to  one  vast  picnic ;  for  the  ladies, 
young  ones  and  old  ones,  went  from  house 
to  house  with  their  offerings  of  every  im- 
aginable delicacy  to  tempt  the  palate  of 
the  wounded  Confederates.  Young  ladies 
brought  new  linen  handkerchiefs,  with  the 
Confederate  flag  embroidered  in  the  cor- 
ner, and  purchased  perhaps  with  their  only 
half-a-dollar  in  greenback ;  for  that  cur- 
rency was  a   scarce  commodity   with  the 


FALLING  BACK  OF  BUELL,  ETC,      IO3 

citizens  in  those  days  ;  so  was  the  **  purple 
and  fine  linen,"  for  which  all  true  South- 
erners had  not  ceased  to  yearn. 

There  was  a  Texas  Ranger  who  was 
wounded  in  the  charge  on  the  court-house, 
and  who  lingered,  and  died,  and  was 
buried  in  the  city  cemetery,  just  one  week 
to  the  day  Forrest  captured  Murfi-eesboro. 
He  had  been  brought  from  Colonel  Ar- 
nold's residence,  about  a  mile  from  town, 
to  the  house  of  Mr.  Reuben  Bolles,  where 
he  received  every  kind  attention  that  sym- 
pathizing friends  could  bestow.  He  suf- 
fered intensely  all  the  week,  which  he  bore 
patiently  and  with  fortitude,  and  we 
judged  from  the  random  words  he  spoke 
in  his  delirium,  that  he  was  a  Christian, 
and,  as  we  inferred  from  some  of  his  pos- 
sessions, holding  to  the  Catholic  faith.  All 
that  sad  afternoon,  when  he  lay  dying,  he 
murmured  the  words,  ''Sweet  Jesus! 
Sweet  Jesus!  receive  my  soul!"  and  then 
his  mind  would  wander  slightly,  and  he 
turned  his  head  on  the  pillow  to  the  young 
lady  who  sat  by  his  bedside,  and  asked 
her  if  she  ''was  not  going  with  him,"  and 


104  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

said  it  was  "getting  dark."  Yes,  it  was 
getting  dark  to  the  wounded  ranger,  for 
the  film  of  death  was  gathering  over  his 
eyes.  One  last  ray  of  the  setting  sun  fell 
across  the  couch  and  lighted  up  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  dying  ranger — one  last, 
long  grasp  and  the  soul  of  Thomas  Monks 
stood  in  the  presence  of  its  God. 

Although  so  many  hundreds  of  miles 
from  his  ''  Lone  Star  State,"  which  he 
loved  so  dearly,  many,  many  eyes  dropped 
tears  above  the  corpse  of  the  dead  hero. 

The  next  day,  which  was  the  Sabbath, 
his  funeral  was  preached  in  the  Methodist 
Church,  by  the  Rev.  William  Eagleton, 
whose  soul  is  in  heaven  to-day ;  and  the 
ranger  was  tenderly  laid  away  to  that 
sleep  which  knows  no  waking  in  this 
world.  His  grave  was  literally  covered 
with  flowers.  It  was  all  we  had  to  offer. 
Why  should  we  not  honor  his  memory 
when  this  man  had  given  all  that  he  had — 
his  life — for  us  ?  We  all  remember  what 
a  strange  feeling  stole  over  us  as  we  sat 
that  morning  in  the  Methodist  Church. 
An  unnatural  stillness  brooded  in  the  air, 


FALLING  BACK  OF  BUELL,  ETC.       IO5 

which  was  attributable  to  the  fact  that  not 
a  Yankee  remained  in  Murfreesboro.  The 
very  atmosphere  seemed  Hghter  and  the 
skies  brighter  after  they  had  left,  and  we 
hailed  our  deliverance  with  delight. 

Not  long  afterward  Bragg's  army  en- 
tered Murfreesboro,  amid  the  welcoming 
cheers  of  her  citizens,  who  greeted  the 
gray  coats  once  more  with  ardor. 


I06  GILr.KRT    ST.     MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    MERRY    FALL    OF    1862,    WITH    A   DESCRIP- 
TION OF   SOME   OF  THE    FESTIVITIES— PRESI- 
DENT DAVIS  AND  JO.  JOHNSON  VISIT  MUR- 
FREESBORO— THE  MARRIAGE  OF  GEN- 
ERAL JOHN  H.  MORGAN. 

That  was  a  merry  fall  of  1862.  We 
enjoyed  ourselves  sure,  at  least  some  of 
US.  Through  the  dreamy  autumn  after- 
noons, we  drove  or  rode  or  walked  with  our 
gay   cavaliers  in   gray,  and  whiled    away 

the  lone,  bright  hours  with  sono-  and  merri- 
er'       o  o 

ment,  caring  only  for  the  present — and,  at 
night,  assembled  at  some  place  of  festivity, 
"tripped  the  light  fantastic  toe"  into  the 
''wee  sma'  hours  ayant  the  twal." 

How  the  young  ladies  rummaged  the 
dry  goods  stores  for  odd  remnants  of  lace, 
or  rose-colored  or  blue  ribbon,  and  bought 
at  fabulous  Confederate  prices  ancient 
pieces  of  stiff,   wiry   muslin,   and  endeav- 


THE    MERRY    FALL    OF    1 862.  lO/ 

ored  to  drape  them  into  graceful  folds  to 
please  the  fastidious  taste  of  their  elegant 
cavaliers !  and  how  fortunate  do  we  re- 
member to  have  esteemed  ourselves  in 
finding  several  yards  of  pink  crape  which 
suited  admirably  to  trim  a  party  dress ! 

These  details  no  doubt  seem  trite  to  the 
reader,  and  unworthy  to  occupy  space  in 
a  book ;  yet,  nevertheless,  they  possessed 
an  intense  interest  for  us  then ;  and  we 
never  commenced  to  write  a  plain,  matter- 
of-fact  history,  but  to  gather  up  and  weave 
into  book-form  the  odds  and  ends  as  they 
come  into  our  mind. 


In  thinking  of  all  those  past  scenes,  we 
have  laid  down  our  pen,  on  this  wet, 
dreary  day,  and  have  gazed  at  that  naked 
expanse  of  desolate  grounds  which  sur- 
round^ Murfreesboro,  until  the  tears  we 
can  not  keep  back  force  themselves  to  our 
eyes.  We  have  looked  at  that  cloud  of 
smoke  which  rises  from  some  hut,  near 
Nelson's  old  fortifications,  until  the  sight 
wearies  us,  while  dreaming  over  the  past. 


I08  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

How  trivial  may  be  the  chain  that  links 
us  to  the  past,  in  which  we  live  over  again 
and  again  the  scenes  which  possessed  such 
an  intense  interest  for  us  in  years  agone. 
We  think  but  little  of  the  present,  and 
yet,  after  it  has  passed  away,  we  find  our- 
selves dreaming  over  it,  and  wishing — 
how  vainly — it  might  return. 

President  Davis,  in  company  with  Gen. 
Joseph  E.  Johnson,  reviewed  the  troops 
of  General  Bragg's  army  at  Murfreesboro 
during  the  fall  of  1862.  Everybody 
turned  out  on  the  gala  day,  and  every- 
where you  met  bright,  smiling  faces  on 
their  way  to  the  parade  ground ;  and 
everybody  was  equally  anxious  to  gain  a 
glimpse  of  the  hero  of  so  many  battles  in 
Virginia,  General  Jo.  Johnson,  as  also  they 
felt  a  great  desire  to  see  the  President  of 
the  Confederacy.  All  the  while  the  bands 
were  discoursing  gay,  inspiring  music, 
with  colors  flying  at  the  heads  of  their  re- 
spective regiments.  Occasionally  we  got 
a  glimpse  of  the  President  and  General 
Johnson  as  they  rode  up  and  down  the 
line  with  their  long  hair  floating  on  the 


THE    MERRY    FALL    OF    1 862.  IO9 

wind.  It  was  a  superb  sight.  Every  reg- 
iment in  holiday  attire,  keeping  step  to  the 
martial  music  while  passing  in  review  be- 
fore the  distinguished  gentlemen. 

We  think  it  was  that  day  General  John 
H.  Morgan  received  his  commission  as 
brigadier,  and  the  next  day,  which  was 
Sunday,  in  the  afternoon,  General  Morgan 
was  married  to  Miss  Mattie  Ready,  who 
had  been  one  of  the  reigning  belles  in  the 
days  when  Washington  societv  was  some- 
thing w^orth  cultivating.  Miss  Ready  was 
magnificently  handsome,  and  was  well 
mated  to  the  General,  who  had  for  a  long 
time  been  the  idol  of  the  Southern  people. 

There  was  a  brilliant  assemblage  of 
guests,  and  Madame  Grundy  descanted 
largely  on  the  handsome  appearance  of 
the  groom  and  the  queenly  elegance  of 
the  bride  who  had  borne  off  the  coveted 
prize  from  many  rivals  throughout  the 
South ;  for  General  Morgan  was  widely 
known  and  universally  popular,  as  well  he 
might  be. 

A  shadow  darkened  the  threshold  of 
many  a  Southern  home  when  the  sad  news 


no  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

was  transmitted  across  the  wires  that 
Morgan,  whom  the  Southern  people 
adored,  was  dead — not  killed  in  fair,  open 
fight,  but  murdered,  wantonly  and  cruelly 
— for  his  brave  life  was  worth  every  soul 
in  the  Yankee  army. 

In  two  more  days  after  his  marriage  he 
struck  out  for  Hartsville,  and  won  a  bril- 
liant victory  there,  capturing  over  two 
thousand  Yankee  soldiers,  whom  he 
brought  to  Murfreesboro  as  prisoners.  We 
remember  walking  through  the  square  on 
that  same  afternoon  they  were  brought  in, 
and  seeing  the  court-house  yard  full  of 
blue-coated  soldiers  brought  there  by 
General  Morgan  and  his  men. 

As  much  as  the  Federal  soldiers  hated 
General  Morgan,  he  always  treated  his 
prisoners  courteously,  which  is  proof  suffi- 
cient of  the  native  kindness  of  heart 
which  characterized  the  man.  Yet  the 
Yankee  press  took  especial  pains  to  rep- 
resent this  man  as  coarse  and  cruel  and 
brutal,  and  as  exceedingly  tyrannical  to 
his  prisoners.  There  surely  was  never  a 
greater  mistake. 


THE    MERRY    FALL    OF     1 862.  Ill 

We  remember  a  little  circumstance 
which  happened  in  regard  to  these  prison- 
ers, and  we  write  it  just  as  it  was  repeated 
to  us. 

A  Confederate  cavalryman,  who  hated 
intensely  the  Northern  soldiers,  and  pos- 
sibly had  every  right  to  do  so,  as  every- 
thing his  father  possessed  in  the  world 
had  been  taken  from  him  and  appropriated 
by  the  government  for  its  own  use.  This 
Southern  soldier  spoke  very  harshly  to 
the  prisoners,  and  remarked  in  General 
Morgan's  presence  that  anything  was 
good  enough  for  a  Yankee  prisoner. 
General  Morgan  overheard  the  soldier, 
and  rebuked  him  severely,  telling  him 
that  no  one  who  was  brave  would  insult 
a  prisoner ;  that  in  case  this  should  hap- 
pen again,  he  would  punish  him  severely, 
which  abashed  the  Southern  cavalryman 
very  much,  and  rendered  him  more  care- 
ful next  time  of  what  he  said. 

That  last  grand  ball  at  the  court-house 
on  Christmas  eve  of  1862,  given  by  the 
First  Louisiana  and  Sixth  Kentucky  reg- 
iments, when — 


112  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

"There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 

And  Murfreesboro's  capital  had  gathered  there 

Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men ; 

A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily ;  and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 

Soft  eyes  look'd  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again." 

How  many  of  us  remember  it  all  with 
pleasurable  feelings.  The  decorations  of 
the  hall  were  magnificent,  and  constructed 
with  much  taste  and  ingenuity.  And  if 
*' bright  lamps"  did  not  shine  over  ''fair 
women  and  brave  men,"  at  least  many 
candles  did — behind  each  one  a  bayonet, 
which  brightly  reflected  the  light  on  the 
festive  scene.  That  pyramidal  chandelier 
of  bayonets  and  candles  was  considered  a 
chef-d' CEuvre  of  elegance  and  ingenuity  by 
those  who  constructed  it. 

There  were  trees  of  evergreen  with 
colored  lanterns  in  them  in  the  corners  of 
the  hall,  and  jars  of  flowers,  contributed 
by  the  Murfreesboro  ladies,  on  the  win- 
dow-sills. There  were  two  "B's"  en- 
twined in  evergreen,  on  one  side  of  the 
hall,  representing  Bragg  and  Brecken- 
ridge,  while  just  below  it  hung  a  magnifi- 


THE    MERRY    FALL    OF    1 862.  II3 

cent  regimental  flag,  and  also,  in  different 
parts  of  the  hall,  a  good  many  splendid 
trophies  from  the  different  battle-fields — 
Yankee  flags,  captured  by  General  John 
Morgan.  And  all  this  time,  while  we  are 
admiring  the  tout  ensemble,  the  distin- 
guished company  is  beginning  to  assem- 
ble ;  and  the  polished  manners  of  the 
Confederate  officers  present  might  well 
have  belonged  to  some  foreign  court. 
Then  there  came  the  crash  of  music,  and 
the  gay  revelers  sped  onward  in  the  giddy 
dance  to  the  intoxicating,  entrancing 
music,  the  stately  cotillion,  the  voluptuous 
waltz. 

There  was  a  goodly  array  of  splendid 
names  present.  Bragg,  with  his  keen, 
piercing  eyes,  and  the  stately  Brecken- 
ridge,  Preston  Smith,  and  a  host  of  other 
brilliant  names.  General  Polk  lent  his 
aristocratic  presence  to  the  occasion,  and 
many  others  whose  reputation  for  valor 
was  widely  known  throughout  the  South. 
The  festivities  were  prolonged  far  into  the 
night,  and  when  we  left  the  heated  ball- 
room   and    inhaled    delicious  draughts  of 


114  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

pure,  fresh  air,  the  following  lines  rose  to 
our  lips  : — 

"The  masque  is  over,  the  dance  is  done, 

The  music,  the  song,  the  flirting,  the  fun, 
And,  coming  home  in  the  morning  gray, 
One  yawns  out  sleepily,  'did  it  pay?' " 

Yes,  it  '*did  pay;"  and  we  would  like 
to  live  it  all  over  again ;  or,  rather,  would 
like  to  meet  our  old  friends  of  that  time, 
and  talk  over  with  them  those  gay  scenes 
again. 

There  is  one  other  name  which  de- 
serves to  be  enshrined  in  the  hearts  of  his 
countrymen,  who  was  present  at  this  ball 
we  are  writing  of,  and  who,  too,  lies  in  his 
dreamless  bed.  Tennessee  had  no  truer, 
braver  soldier  than  John  Douglas,  of  Sum- 
ner county,  and  Adjutant  of  the  Eighteenth 
Tennessee  regiment.  We  knew  him  well 
— and  he,  too,  is  dead,  as,  indeed,  are 
many  others  of  our  best  friends  and  those 
we  esteemed  most  at  that  time,  leaving 
only  the  memory  of  their  virtues  to  con- 
sole us. 

Although  the  laugh,  the   jest,  and  the 


THE    MERRY    FALL    OF    1 862.  II5 

dance  went  on  far  into  the  night,  it  was 
soon  to  be  turned  into  sorrow. 

"  Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 
Last  eve  in  beauty's  circle  proudly  gay. 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal  sound  of  strife — 
The  morn,  the  marshaling  in  arms — the  day, 
Battle's  magnificent,  stern  array." 

Those  two  powerful  armies,  Bragg  and 
Rosencranz,  were  preparing  to  close  in  a 
death  struggle,  and  establish  the  suprem- 
acy of  one  or  the  other  in  Middle  Tennes- 
see. Soon  was  to  be  heard  the  long,  dull 
thunder  of  cannon,  and  charge  of  cavalry  ; 
and  the  cry  of  Bragg's  army  was  Nash- 
ville !  Nashville ! 


1 6  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   BATTLE   OF  STONE'S  RIVER— THE  REPULSE 

OF  BRECKEXRIDGE  AND  EVACUATION  BY 

BRAGG  OF  MURFREESBORO. 

, '  Time  passes !     The    dumb,    bitter,   snowbound    and    sullen 
December  is  come, 
And  its  snows  have  been  bathed  in  the  blood  of  the  brave, 
And  many  a  young  heart  has  glutted  the  grave ; 
On  Stone's  River  yet,  the  wild  bramble  is  gory. 
And  those  bleak    heights,    henceforth,    shall    be    famous   in 
story." 

"  Stone's  River  !"  What  a  host  of  mem- 
ories comes  back  with  the  name  !  How 
brave  the  Tennesseans  fought  on  the 
thresholds  of  their  own  homes !  With 
what  stubborn  courage  they  contested 
every  inch  of  ground,  pouring  their 
heart's  blood  in  an  unequal  contest  with 
the  vile  scum  of  the  North  !  How  elated 
we  were  on  Wednesday,  the  31st  of  De- 
cember, thinking  that  Bragg  would  dis- 
lodge Rosencranz  and  drive  him  back  to 


BATTLE  OF  STONK  S  RIVER.         11/ 

Nashville,  and  the  Southern  army  would 
hold  IMurfreesboro  at  all  hazards. 

Poor  Fred  James  !  Let  us  drop  a  tear 
to  his  memory.  He  was  killed  on  the 
threshold  of  his  own  home,  almost  at  his 
own  door,  fighting  07i  Ids  own  ground  for 
the  home  of  his  childhood. 

There  was  a  lull  on  Thursday,  and  on 
Friday  afternoon  General  Breckenridge 
attacked  and  met  with  a  severe  repulse, 
leaving  many  dead  and  wounded  on  the 
ground ;  yet,  nevertheless,  never  had  men 
fought  with  more  determined  courage ; 
but  the  Yankees  had  thrice  their  numbers, 
as,  in  fact,  they  always  did  whenever  they 
won  a  victory.  We  challenge  the  world 
to  show  where  they  ever  held  their 
ground  against  anything  like  equal  num- 
bers of  Confederates  !  What  had  they, 
the  paid  hirelings  of  the  North,  to  fight  for 
save  their  bread  and  meat?  What  cared 
they  for  the  emblem  of  the  United  States 
government,  save  as  a  striped  rag,  with 
stars  painted  on  a  blue  field  ?  It  was 
that  much  to  them  and  it  was  no  more. 


Il8  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

<' A  primrose  by  the  river's  brim, 
A  yellow  primrose  it  was  to  tliem, 
And  it  was  nothing  more." 

They,  the  common  soldiery,  knew  they 
were  clothed  and  fed  at  the  expense  of 
the  Yankee  government,  and  paid  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  wages  to  march  under  the 
''  star-spangled  banner."  They  felt  no  en- 
thusiasm at  anything  save  in  the  prospect 
of  plunder,  which  suited  them  well.  Be- 
sides, the  majority  of  them  were  servants 
at  home,  and  could  get  as  high  wages  in 
the  army  as  they  could  command  at  home, 
and,  besides,  they  wanted  to  ''knock 
around"  and  see  "something  of  the 
world,"  as  we  heard  some  of  them  ex- 
press themselves,  prefacing  an  apology 
for  being  caught  in  "  bad  company." 

Well,  many  of  them  did  see  ''some- 
thing of  the  world,"  but  it  was  a  con- 
tracted vision  some  of  them  sought  when 
they  found  rest  in  the  tomb. 

But  the  most  laughable  thing,  par  ex- 
cellence, was  to  hear  those  great,  square- 
built,  broad-faced,  flat-footed  foreigners, 
who    could     scarcely    speak    a    word    of 


BATTLE  OF  STONES  RIVER.         I  I9 

English  correctly,  with  their  stereotyped 
harrangue  all  about  "dying  for  the  old 
Union,"  and  "fighting  for  the  old  flag," 
which  seemed  to  us  to  be  the  "one  step 
from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous." 

But  to  return  to  the  battle. 

It  seems  but  yesterday  since  we  laid 
our  hands  on  the  cold,  dead  face  of  Gen- 
eral Rains,  who  was  shot  through  the 
heart,  killed  instantly,  on  Wednesday,  the 
31st  of  December.  It  seems  but  yester- 
day since  the  screams  of  his  sister,  who 
refused  to  be  comforted,  came  through 
the  air  on  that  chill,  bleak,  winter  day,  in 
accents  of  piercing  sorrow !  Ah,  what 
must  have  been  the  feelings  of  the  lovely 
young  wife,  who,  environed  by  Yankees 
in  the  city  of  Nashville,  was  unable  to 
come  to  him  !  It  all  comes  back  to  us 
now  with  ten-fold  force. 

The  sum  and  substance  of  the  battle 
was,  that  Bragg  whipped  Rosencranz  on 
Wednesday,  and  Breckenridge  attacked 
and  was  repulsed  on  Friday,  which  elated 
the  other  side  considerably,  and,  as  they 
were  constantly  receiving   reinforcements 


I20  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

from  Nashville,  a  rumor  spread  like  wild- 
fire late  Saturday,  succeeding  the  battle, 
that  Bragg  was  going  to  evacuate,  which 
the  citizens  were  loth  to  believe,  but 
which,  for  all  that,  was  an  unwelcome 
truth. 

An  amusing  little  incident  happened 
near  us  during  the  battle.  There  were  a 
good  many  Yankee  prisoners  brought  in 
town  during  the  fight,  and  as  a  squad  of 
them  were  returning,  under  guard,  from 
the  Confederate  commissaire  head-quar- 
ters, where  they  had  received  their  scant 
supply  of  Confederate  rations,  one  of 
the  Yankee  prisoners  held  his  up,  and 
said  derisively,  ''  Here's  your  Confederacy 
rations  !  "  and  an  old  gentleman  who  was 
near  him,  and  heard  the  remark,  answered 
back,  ''  and  there  goes  the  7iegro  stealers  P' 
which  put  a  quietus  on  that  soldier's  re- 
marks, and  made  him  feel  ''  small  by  de- 
grees," and  ''  beautifully  less" — at  least  we 
imagine  so 

The  retreat !  Who  of  us  that  were 
here  does  not  remember  it,  on  that  mem- 
orable 3d  of  January,    1863?     It  was  the 


BATTLE   OF   STONES    RIVER.  121 

grandest,  saddest  sight  we  ever  saw.  For 
days  and  days  the  men  had  fought  around 
Murfreesboro,  and  poured  out  their  heart's 
blood  on  the  stiff-frozen  ground,  beneath 
the  chill  December  sky,  with  a  courage 
and  devotion  which  forever  endears  them 
to  our  memory — and  now  they  were  leav- 
ing us ! 

In  the  gathering  gloom  of  the  evening, 
as  the  wet,  dreary  Saturday  drew  to  a 
close,  commenced  that  heavy  tramp, 
tramp,  tramp,  which  told  us  that  Bragg's 
army  of  heroes,  who  had  been  baptized  in 
blood,  and  covered  all  over  with  glory, 
were  passing  away  in  the  silence  and 
gloom  and  darkness  of  the  night — ah !  who 
knew  whither  ?  or  where  ? 

No  other  sound  broke  the  stillness — ■ 
only  the  ceaseless  foot-steps  of  the  re- 
treating heroes,  that  followed  each  other 
in  rapid  succession,  disturbed  the  breath- 
less silence — not  a  word  was  spoken. 

The  author  of  these  lines  saw  amid  the 
dreary,  falling  rain,  the  dim  out-lines  of  a 
gallant  army  that  was  passing  away !  and 
leaving  their  homes    to   the    mercy   of  a 

G 


122  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

blood-thirsty  enemy — and  dropped  bitter, 
burning  tears.  It  was  with  sad  hearts  we 
bade  our  friends  a  long  farewell,  and 
wished  them  ''God  speed,"  for  many  of 
them  we  never  saw  again. 

The  trains  of  cars  were  heavily  laden, 
yet  no  shrill  whistle  rang  out  sharply  on 
the  night  air  to  discover  to  the  blue  folks, 
almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of  Murfrees- 
boro,  what  the  Rebels  were  doing.  Thus 
they  passed  away  without  the  Yankees 
having  a  suspicion  of  their  falling  back. 

The  cry  of  the  Army  of  Middle  Ten- 
nessee had  been,  Nashville  !  Nashville  ! 
The  men  had  been  buoyed  up  with  the 
hope  of  striking  Rosencranz  a  great  blow, 
and  forcing  him  back  from  the  Capital, 
and  now  that  they  were  cruelly  told  they 
must  fall  back,  is  it  any  wonder  that  the 
news  was  inexpressibly  disheartening  ? 

And  here  let  us  pay  a  tribute  to  General 
J.  B.  Palmer,  fearless  and  brave,  a  very  king 
of  battle,  and  many  times  wounded,  and 
never  so  much  at  home  as  where  the  sabres 
clashed  and  the  cannon  thundered.  Ten- 
nessee may  well  be  proud  of  this  gifted 


BATTLE    OF   STONES    RIVER.  1 23 

warrior,  and  to-day  he  lives  in  his  native 
town,  loved  and  respected  by  all  who  know 
him,  and  a  talented  member  of  the  bar. 

If  the  retreat  of  the  army  was  sad,  yet 
there  were  some  of  us  who  packed  up  in 
the  haste  and  excitement  of  the  moment, 
resolved  to  get  away  from  the  Yankees, 
and  enjoyed  intensely  the  midnight  ske- 
daddle, and  were  determined  to  laugh  and 
make  the  most  of  the  "  situation,"  never- 
theless, although  that  long  walk  to  the 
depot  was  not  very  amusing,  for  a  small 
fine  rain  was  steadily  falling,  and  great 
gusts  of  wind,  ever  and  anon,  madly  blew 
our  umbrella  out  of  our  hands.  It  was 
next  to  impossible  to  procure  a  convey- 
ance, so  unexpected  had  been  the  sum- 
mons ;  but  by  dint  of  perseverance  the 
desired  haven — the  depot — was  at  last 
reached,  and  we  were  put  aboard  the  cars 
which  were  to  take  us  '' refugeeing " 
•'away  down  South,"  we  had  no  idea 
where.  With  several  other  belated  ones, 
we  had  the  pleasure  (?)  of  riding  in  a  bag- 
gage car,  with  two  or  three  families,  with 
servants  and  children  scattered  promiscu- 


124  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 

ously  around  it.  Owing  to  the  discom- 
forts of  our  ''situation,"  being  cold  and 
damp  and  rainy,  a  lady  friend  kept  saying 
aloud  ;  "  If  I  had  known  this,  I  would  have 
staid  at  home  with  the  Yankees  ;"  *'  I  wish 
I  had  staid  at  home  with  the  Yankees," 
which  horrified  some  Confederate  soldiers, 
who  thought  the  lady  was  in  earnest,  and 
at  once  set  her  down  as  "Union,"  and 
looked  at  her  suspiciously. 

We  are  morally  certain  we  had  not  the 
remotest  idea  of  writing  anything  of  this 
kind  when  we  commenced  to  write,  but 
everything  comes  back  to  us  so  vividly  we 
can  not  help  it 

Old  army  friends  of  1862  !  where  are 
you  all  to-day  ?  May  health  and  happi- 
ness attend  you  wherever  you  are  !  How 
glad  we  would  be  to  meet  you  once  more, 
and  live  over  again  the  ''  olden  time !" 
Captains  Semmes,  and  Moore,  and  Mc- 
Kendree,  and  the  handsome  Colonel  Bow- 
en,  of  the  Fourth  Florida,  you  were  good 
friends  in  the  winter  of  1862!  Where 
have  the  winds  of  fortune  scattered  you 
to-day  ?     Have  you  forgotten  your  Mur- 


BATTLE   OF   STONES    RIVER.  125 

frcesboro  friends,  in  all  these  years  that 
have  dropped  down  into  eternity  ?  Alas  ! 
Poor  McKendree  !  On  the  plains  of  Geor- 
gia he  gave  his  noble  life  for  the  honor  of 
Kentucky.  As  for  the  others,  they  are 
scattered  far  and  wide,  yet  their  memories 
are  none  the  less  pleasant.  Once  more, 
may  success  attend  you  ! 


126  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IMPORTANT    DESERTION    OF   A   TELEGRAPH    OP- 
ERATOR. 

Perhaps  it  is  a  fact  not  widely  known — 
or,  if  known  or  thought  of  at  the  time,  it 
has  become  buried  under  the  rush  of 
events  that  succeeded  it — that  the  advance 
of  Rosencranz  upon  Bragg  in  June,  1863, 
was  occasioned,  it  is  natural  to  presume, 
by  the  desertion  from  Chattanooga  of  one 
Mr.  John  McCauly,  who  is  well-known  to 
the  old  citizens  of  Murfreesboro.  This 
McCauly,  a  West  Virginian  by  birth,  was 
an  operator,  in  high  favor  in  official  quar- 
ters, and  was  well-informed  as  to  the 
strength  of  Bragg's  army,  and  had  his 
office  at  Chattanooga.  One  day  McCauly 
was  missing,  and  the  rumor  went  abroad 
that  ''McCauly  had  deserted,"  which 
gained    no    credence — for    the    man    had 


DESERTION    OF   AN    OPERATOR.  12/ 

many  friends — until  he  was  heard  of  in 
Murfreesboro.  Strange  to  say,  he  arrived 
in  Murfreesboro  one  day,  ostensibly  eii 
route  for  his  home  in  West  Virginia,  and 
the  next  day  Rosencranz  put  his  army  in 
motion  for  an  advance. 

The  Yankees  dislodged  the  Rebels  at  a 
picnic  at  ''  Hoover's  Gap,"  and  it  was  said 
at  the  time  that  they  never  stopped  danc- 
ing until  a  half-dozen  shells  had  exploded 
in  their  midst,  right  at  their  feet.  Whether 
they  chasseed  their  partners  to  their  seats , 
in  that  dance,  al  fresco,  this  deponent 
knoweth  not. 

It  was  ''  fight "  and  ^'  fall  back  "  with  the 
Rebels  in  Middle  Tennessee,  until  it  had 
become  an  old  song.  So,  wherever  they 
stopped,  even  for  a  dav  or  two  at  a  time, 
they  usually  issued  invitations  to  the  young 
ladies,  and  they  met  in  some  public  place 
to  dance ;  and  perhaps  on  the  morrow 
they  would  have  a  battle,  and  many  of 
them  would  be  dead,  lying  almost  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  the  scene  of  the  previous 
evening's  merriment,  where  they  might 
almost  hear  the  echo  of  the  music  they 


128  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

had  danced  to,  were  their  ears  not  dull  for 
the  time  to  all  sounds  earthly. 

We  have  lost  sight  of  the  principal 
characters  in  this  true  record  of  past 
scenes  and  years,  and  recalled  trifles  and 
incidents  interesting  perhaps  only  to  our- 
selves. When  we  next  hear  from  them, 
the  Army  of  Middle  Tennessee  had  been 
forced  back  by  overwhelming  numbers 
beyond  the  Tennessee  lines.  The  two 
armies  had  met  in  a  great  struggle  on  the 
plains  of  Chickamauga,  which  was  verily  a 
contest  of  giants.  The  spot  was  rich  in 
Indian  legends,  and  a  wild,  weird  place, 
but  it  was  the  scene  of  a  terrible  battle. 

"No  sunbeam  lit  the  desolated  field 
Of  Chickamauga,  and  no  kindly  star 
With  pitying  eye  looked  down  upon  the  wreck 
Which,  battle's  waves  receding,  left  behind. 
There  fathers  strewed  the  turf,-  and  brothers  there 
Locked  arms  in  death — there  blood-wet  flags 
Trailed  over  miles  of  slain ;  but  black-browed  night 
Gloomed  over  all,  and  strange,  sad  silence  reigned 
Where  late  the  strife  had  been,  save  only  groans 
Of  men  who  strived  with  Death  as  they  to-day 
Had  fought  with  bannered  foes." 

Victor  Hart  was  still  on  the  "  staff,"  and 
had  passed  through  many  a  fiery  ordeal 


DESERTION    OF   AN    OPERATOR.  I2g 

since   we  last  conversed   with   him.     He 
had  had  several    scratches,   and  felt  the 
wind  of  many  a  bullet  that  almost  grazed 
his  cheek,  and  yet  he  laughed  and  fought 
all  the  same,  as  if  nothing  had  ever  hap- 
pened to  disturb  his  equanimity  ;  his  spirits 
never  flagged,  his  supreme  courage  never 
failed  him,  and  often  he  went  into  battle 
singing,  ''The  girl  I  left  behind  me."    His 
heart  he  had  left  in  the  Old  Dominion. 
He  was  telling  the  truth  when  he  affirmed 
to  his  sister  that  he  was  "falling  in  love." 
Major  Hart  was  hopelessly  and  irretrieva- 
bly in  love,   and  the  "girl  he  left  behind 
him"  in  Virginia  returned  it  with   equal 
ardor— for  who  could  resist  his  bright,  fas- 
cinating manners  and  genial  humor?     It 
was  not  a  "  flirtation,"  but  a  bona  fide  love 
engagement,  which  was  consummated  at 
the  close  of  the  war,  when  Major  Hart  re- 
turned home  with  his  hard-won  laurels — a 
parole  in  his  pocket,  and  divested  of  the 
time-honored  gray  uniform. 

Young  ladies  of  the  South,  answer  me  : 
It  was  pleasant,  was  it  not,  during  the  war 
where  the  Confederate  armies  were  sta- 


130  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

tioned  ?  There  was  so  much  romance  in 
the  Southern  army.  In  the  rapid  and  ever- 
changing  panorama  of  the  war,  one  was  con- 
stantly meeting  and  forming  new  acquain- 
tances. The  ceremonies  of  a  formal  in- 
troduction were  frequently  dispensed  with, 
and  the  proprieties  that ''  Madam  Grundy  " 
had  previously  required  were  passed  over 
in  neglect.  The  acquaintance  of  to-day 
became  the  fast  friend  of  to-morrow,  and 
the  next  day  would  probably  be  gone  for- 
ever ;  yet  around  the  acquaintance  thus 
rapidly  and  unceremoniously  formed  per- 
haps there  lingered  an  aroma  with  the 
spice  of  a  romance  in  it. 

How  slight  may  be  the  trifles  that  recall 
some  lost  love  of  our  youth,  some  scene 
in  the  happy  years  that  have  flown !  It 
might  be  a  bouquet  of  scentless,  withered 
flowers,  tied  with  a  faded  blue  ribbon,  yet 
it  speaks  to  us  in  memories  tender  from 
the  grave  of  some  dear,  dead  friend.  It 
might  be  the  breath  of  a  summer's  night, 
that  comes  back  heavily  laden  with  the 
hours  that  have  gone  into  eternity ;  or  the 
odor  of  a   sweet   flower,  and  we  will  re- 


DESERTION    OF    AN    OPERATOR.  13 1 

member  some  gay  gallant  who  placed  it 
in  our  hair  with  tender  words  of  love  and 
passionate  admiration,  and  bade  us  "think 
of  him,  and  him  only,"  in  his  absence,  and 
rehearsed  the  same  enchanting  tableau 
for  the  benefit  of  the  next  pretty  girl  that 
the  chances  of  war  threw  in  his  way. 
Who  could  blame  them  that  they  enjoyed 
themselves  and  made  themselves  happy 
and  merry,  for  they  knew  not  what  the 
morrow  might  bring  forth— who  would  be 
the  next  to  fall. 

Old  soldiers  of  the  South,  you  were 
right  to  laugh  and  dance  in  all  those  years 
that  are  gone  !  The  present  was  yours  to 
enjoy ;  the  shadowy  future  you  went  forth 
to  meet  with  a  brave  heart. 

The  true  Southern  soldier  was  equal  to 
any  emergency,  and 

*«  Threw  himself,  heart  and  soul,  into  all  that  allured 
Or  engaged  his  sensations ;  nor  ever  endured 
To  relinquish  to  failure  whatever  he  began, 
Or  accept  any  rank  save  the  foremost." 

And  sitting  here  to-night,  and  thinking 
of  all  the  shifting  scenes  in  the  years  that 
have   come  and  gone,   a  voice   from  the 


132  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

depths  of  our  heart  cries  out;  ''O  lost 
years,  return  !  O  happy  days,  come  back  !" 
And  only  the  roar  of  the  waters  outside, 
where  the  rain  is  pouring  in  torrents,  re- 
ply :    Nevermore,  nevermore  ! 

Gilbert  St.  Maurice  was  serving  with  a 
general  of  considerable  distinction,  in 
Georgia,  and  that  general  had  no  fear  of 
a  living  human  being.  He  admired  St. 
Maurice  more  than  any  one  he  ever  knew. 
He  was  always  intrusted  with  important 
orders,  for  he  had  the  will  and  the  cour- 
age to  execute  whatever  commission  was 
assigned  to  him.  His  cordial  bearing  and 
cheerful  smiles  made  him  a  general  favor- 
ite with  his  superior  officers. 

The  army  had  fallen  back,  fighting  all 
the  way,  from  Chattanooga  to  Dal  ton,  and 
as  we  heard  a  returned  soldier  express  it, 
*'men  who  had  never  prayed  before  in 
their  lives,  and  were  reckless  and  profane 
at  home,  prayed  all  the  way  from  Chatta- 
nooga to  Dalton,"  for  the  cannon  roared 
all  day  long,  and  the  muskets  banged 
from  morning  till  night,  and  no  one  of 
them  felt  any  security  for  his  life. 


DESERTION    OF   AN    OPERATOR.  1 33 

On  one  occasion,  when  a  regiment  of 
cavalry  showed  signs  of  fear  and  confu- 
sion, St.  Maurice,  who  had  just  deHvered 
a  dispatch  to  one  of  the  generals  in  a  dis- 
tant spot,  and  was  returning  Hke  Hght- 
ning  across  the  field,  darted  to  the  head  of 
the  wavering  column,  seized  the  colors, 
rode  rapidly  up  and  down  the  line,  rallied 
the  men  to  the  charge,  dashed  wildly 
forward,  cheering  all  the  time,  and  won 
the  point  for  which  they  were  contending. 
The  commanding  general  publicly  compli- 
mented him  for  this  piece  of  bravery  in 
the  presence  of  the  entire  army. 

The  heart  of  Marion  Hart  thrilled  with 
triumph  when  she  read  in  the  newspapers 
of  her  lover's  gallantry.  In  her  ''  hero- 
worship  "  she  had  invested  him  with  a  halo 
of  romance,  and  regarded  him  as  some 
enchanted  knight  of  the  olden  days  of 
chivalry,  with  plumed  hat  and  golden 
spurs,  hastening  to  battle.  Yet  the  time 
was  not  far  distant  when  we  shall  bid  him 
a  long  farewell,  never  to  hear  his  cheerful 
voice  again,  nevermore  to  feel  the  warm 
clasp  of  his  hand,  nor  see  the  sweet  smile 


134  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

that  always  so  kindly  greeted  us.  The 
blue  eyes  were  soon  to  be  closed  in  death, 
and  the  cold  hands  folded  over  the  stilled 
heart. 

We  have  thought  sometimes  it  was  well 
for  those  who  died  in  the  flush  of  victory, 
nor  ever  endured  the  mortification  and 
humiliation  of  those  who  lived  to  see  the 
dream  fade,  and  the  war  over — those  who 
came  home  ragged  and  soiled,  with  no 
money  in  their  pockets,  and  many  of  them 
no  homes  to  come  to,  and  beheld  the  des- 
olation that  the  four  years  of  the  war  had 
wrought ;  for  time  and  things  had  changed, 
materially  changed.  Society  was  up- 
heaved from  its  base.  Those  who  were 
poor  and  obscure,  had  become  rich,  and 
rode  in  velvet-lined  carriages,  and  spent 
gold  freely.  Those  who  were  in  affluence 
in  the  beginning  of  the  war,  and  lived  in 
luxuriously-furnished  houses,  with  crowds 
of  well-trained  servants  at  their  command, 
were  now  performing  the  coarsest  kind  of 
manual  labor  for  their  daily  bread.  Alas, 
a  change  had  come  to  all !  Bread,  with 
but  a  small   accompaniment  of  anything 


DESERTION    OF   AN    OPERATOR.  135 

better,  had  to  be  worked  for,  and  the  ''  pur- 
ple and  fine  linen "  cast  aside  with  an 
humble  acceptance  of  a  less  costly  fabric. 
No  more  dreaming  in  indolent  luxury, 
sleeping,  dressing,  eating  and  visiting  at 
pleasure.  A  life  of  toil  rose  before  the 
hitherto  idle  Southerner.  A  Yankee  sol- 
dier once  remarked  to  us,  he  reckoned 
''we  Southerners  would  not  be  quite  so 
'  stuck  up,'  when  we  had  to  cook  and  wash 
and  iron,  like  their  wives  and  daughters." 
Poor  besotted  bats  that  they  were  !  They 
conceived  the  idea  that  mere  manual 
labor  was  the  cause  of  their  inferiority. 
There  were  some  among  the  Southerners 
who  accepted  the  change  in  the  best  spirit 
they  could  assume,  and  bore  bravely  what 
they  could  not  help.  And  then  there 
were  others  who  were  ashamed,  and  hung 
their  heads  in  silence,  and  had  not  the 
moral  courage  to  face  the  issue. 

We  saw  the  son  of  a  formerly  wealthy 
and  aristocratic  family  driving  cattle.  He 
turned  his  head  and  averted  his  face,  and 
did  not  speak  to  us,  although  we  knew 
him  well.     That  was  laughable.     We  saw 


136  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 

a  Staff  officer — and,  for  that  matter,  a  gal- 
lant one — clerking  in  the  store  of  a  Jew, 
and  on  a  small  salary  too.  For  that  we 
admired  him.  With  the  true  courage  of 
a  noble  soul,  "  whatsoever  his  hands  found 
to  do  he  did  with  his  might,"  falsifying  the 
Yankee  idea  that  a  native-born  Southerner 
was  too  proud  to  work. 

Well,  we  beheld  all  this  and  much  more 
after  May,  1865,  and  marveled  at  the 
great  changes  that  had  taken  place  in  our 
old  homes,  which,  alas  !  were  desolate  in- 
deed when  we  remember  those  who 
were  never  to  come  back.  But,  thank 
God,  to-day  "  there  is  life  in  the  old  land  " 
yet.  The  dormant  powers  of  the  South- 
ern people  have  been  fully  developed, 
and  keep  pace  with  the  master  minds  of 
the  age. 


HOME-LIFE    OF    MARION    HART.  IJ7 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HOME-LIFE  OF  MARION  HART. 

Marion  Hart  in  her  own  home  tried  to 
fill  the  empty  space  in  her  life  caused  by 
the  absence  of  her  lover — a  long,  tedious 
absence,  under  which  she  sometimes  well- 
nigh  broke  down.  She  made  life  endura- 
ble by  devoting  herself  to  the  indigent. 
''The  poor  ye  have  always"  seemed  to  be 
her  sole  care ;  and  truly  and  faithfully  did 
she  obey  the  injunctions  of  her  Divine 
Master,  and  into  many  desolate  homes 
did  she  bring  joy  and  sunshine,  with  bod- 
ily as  well  as  mental  comfort. 

How  much  good  one  might  do  in  this 
world,  if  one  only  would !  There  are 
hundreds  of  opportunities  daily  before 
our  eyes,  yet  we  close  our  hearts,  and 
turn  an  indifferent  ear  to  the  appeals  of 
suffering  humanity,  with  only  a  passing 
exclamation  of  sympathy,  which  is  for- 
gotten almost    as  soon   as  spoken.     Yet 


138  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

we  live  in  a  civilized  land,  and  call  our- 
selves Christians.  Christians  indeed !  It 
is  a  libel  on  the  cause.  That  Christianity 
which  only  sentimentalizes  over  the  de- 
gradation of  fallen  humanity  in  a  fanciful 
way,  without  a  tangible  result  in  alleviat- 
ing their  sufferings,  is  but  an  indifferent 
thing,  a  farce,  a  superficial  emotion,  a 
mockery !  There  are  thousands  daily 
fainting  under  their  heavy  burdens,  who 
only  need  a  kind  word,  a  strong  hand,  to 
help  them  through  the  slough  of  despond- 
ency. Yet  we  withhold  the  "kind  word  '* 
within  the  circle  of  our  happy  homes,  sur- 
rounded by  thoughtful,  loving  care,  and 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  heart-sick  and 
weary.  In  the  calm  consciousness  of  su- 
perior moral  rectitude  and  power,  we  hes- 
itate to  contaminate  ourselves  by  contact 
with  the  *'  fallen."  The  hardened  criminal 
would  perhaps  like  to  return  to  the  days 
of  sweet  peace  and  innocence,  but  where 
can  there  be  found  a  helping  hand  ?  And 
shall  we  be  held  guiltless  in  the  hour  of 
final  judgment?  No!  the  very  stones 
will  cry  out  against  us. 


HOME-LIFE    OF    MARION    HART.  1 39 

From  a  gay  and  brilliant  belle,  Marion 
Hart  had  changed  into  a  thoughtful,  lov- 
ing woman,  with  her  mind  purified  by  sor- 
row— just  as  the  finest  gold  is  relieved  of 
dross  by  passing  through  the  fiery  fur- 
nace. It  was  the  depth,  the  intensity  of 
this  proud  girl's  love  that  caused  her  to 
humble  herself  in  sight  of  her  Maker  and 
man.  There  was  a  sublimity  in  the  hero- 
ism with  which  she  sacrificed  her  former 
tastes  and  pursuits,  and  devoted  herself  to 
those  who  needed  her  help  and  appre- 
ciated her  sympathy.  There  may  have 
been  a  tinge  of  selfishness  in  the  under- 
current-of  her  motives,  for  she  well  knew 
it  would  exalt  her  in  the  estimation  of  him 
whose  good  opinion  she  cared  for  more 
than  all  the  world  beside ;  and  love  makes 
us  all  selfish  to  some  extent.  Never  had 
the  girl  prayed  as  fervently  as  she  did 
during  those  last  dark  days  of  the  war.  A 
shadow  had  fallen  across  her  pathway,  and 
the  only  comfort  she  had  was  in  the  brief 
snatches  of  sunshine  that  broke  upon  the 
gloom  of  her  every-day  life  in  the  way  of 
letters — great,    thick,    bulky    letters,   that 


140  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

never  failed  to  come — letters  that  light- 
ened her  footsteps,  causing  the  pale,  proud 
face  to  flush  and  the  eyes  to  kindle  into 
something  like  joy,  and  the  voice  to  break 
into  snatches  of  old-time  melody.  Those 
who  were  accustomed  to  seeing  her  daily 
moving  about  with  noiseless  steps  and 
softened  tones,  would  turn  and  look  at  her 
in  astonishment,  as  she  passed  them  with 
fleet  footsteps  on  her  self-imposed  round 
of  daily  duties,  and  wonder  at  the  sub- 
dued joy  that  glowed  in  her  countenance 
and  irradiated  her  whole  face.  At  such 
times  there  was  a  dreamy,  tender  light  in 
the  deep,  mournful  eyes,  that  rendered 
her  face  inexpressibly  beautiful.  Such 
was  the  potent  force  for  joy  or  sorrow 
that  lay  revealed  in  the  closely-written 
lines. 

Reader,  you  have  seen  persons  clutch  ea- 
gerly at  letters,  have  you  not  ?  with  flushed, 
kindling  cheeks  full  of  joy  and  expecta- 
tion, and  as  often  seen  the  cheek  pale  to 
sudden  fear  and  bitter,  unavailing  tears 
force  themselves  from  eyes,  which  but  a 
few  moments  ago  danced  in  mirth.     Thus 


HOME-LIFE   OF    MARION    HART.  I4I 

quickly  do  joy  and  sorrow  follow  each 
other  in  rapid  succession.  Our  cup  of 
bliss  seems  full  to  overflowing,  and  just  as 
it  is  being  lifted  to  our  lips,  some  rude 
hand  jostles  our  elbow  and  it  falls  to  the 
ground.  Like  the  child  that  is  captivated 
by  the  golden  wings  of  some  brilliant  but- 
terfly, and  gleefully  chases  it  through  the 
sunshine,  and  just  as  it  thinks  it  is  se- 
cured, it  darts  away  and  soon  is  out  of 
sight.  So  it  is  with  life  in  its  checkered 
scenes,  with  its  hopes,  loves,  fears  and 
sorrows,  that  come  alike  to  all. 

That  sorrow  is  most  sublime  which 
shows  itself  not  to  the  scoffers ;  that  grief 
most  majestic  that  shrinks  from  observa- 
tion, and  endeavors,  under  a  smiling,  com- 
posed exterior,  to  hide  from  the  world  the 
heart  which  no  longer  hopes — the  heart 
from  which  the  romance  of  youth  is  for- 
ever dead — where  the  flowers  of  hope  lie 
withered  and  dry,  and  crumble  beneath 
the  touch. 

Marion  Hart  was  composed,  was  sub- 
lime in  that  sorrow  which  had  learned  to 
"suffer  and  be  strong,"  that  Longfellow 


142  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

describes  so  exquisitely,  until  the  long, 
dull  thunder  of  the  guns  in  Georgia  told 
that  the  two  opposing  armies  had  met 
once  more  in  mortal  combat.  Sherman 
had  begun  his  famous  *'  march  to  the  sea," 
which  Yankee  pen7iy-a-li7iers  have  cele- 
brated in  story  and  song,  and  the  forces  of 
Jo.  Johnson  were  every  day  fighting  and 
falling  back.  The  fair  plains  of  Georgia 
had  become  a  scene  of  desolation  and 
bloodshed  and  ruin,  lit  by  blazing  fires, 
with  household  goods  and  altars  over- 
thrown and  destroyed. 

What  mattered  that  daily  the  best  blood 
of  the  South  ran  In  crimson  torrents  to 
stay  the  tide  of  invasion  ?  What  mattered 
the  cries  and  prayers  and  groans  that  as- 
cended to  Heaven  amid  the  dust  and 
smoke  and  din  of  battle  ?  that  woman  and 
children  beheld  their  husbands  and  fathers 
stretched  at  full  length,  dead,  before  them, 
and  cried  for  bread,  and  fled  in  terror  be- 
fore a  triumphant,  blood-thirsty  foe  ?  Of 
what  avail  ?  What  had  thy  people  done, 
O  God,  that  this  great  trial  had  come  upon 
them  ?     Was  the  sin  theirs,  that  they  were 


HOME-LIFE    OF    MARION    HART.  I43 

hunted  down  and  driven  by  fire  and  sword 
from  their  own  home  into  the  fastnesses 
of  the  mountains  by  an  insolent,  victorious 
army?  We  know  not,  and  may  never 
know  here  ;  but  in  the  great  unknown,  un- 
seen world  to  come,  we  shall  know  that,  as 
well  as  many  other  things  that  seem  inex- 
plicable to  us  now.  Was  it  that  the  Lord 
loved  us  so  that  he  laid  the  hand  of  afflic- 
tion so  heavily  upon  the  Southern  people  ? 
Yet  there  were  very  many  Christians 
throughout  the  South  who  shouldered 
their  muskets  and  entered  the  ranks,  and 
fought  in  what  they  considered  a  right- 
eous cause  while  attempting  to  expell  the 
invaders  from  Southern  thresholds  and  to 
defend  with  their  latest  breath  all  they 
held  most  dear.  Were  they  not  right? 
We  can  not  answer  the  question  here  ;  but 
in  the  Hereafter,  when  the  secrets  of  all 
hearts  shall  be  revealed,  we  shall  know. 

Time  passes.  St.  Maurice,  on  the 
evening  previous  to  the  impending  battle 
of  which  we  write,  had  made  all  his  ar- 
rangements for  the  future,  in  case  he 
should    be  killed.     He    was    orderly   and 


144  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 

systematic  in  his  habits  even  in  the  army. 
Old-time  ways  seemed  to  cling  to  him,  and 
in  the  army,  ever  since  he  had  been  a  sol- 
dier, he  had  practiced  what  his  mother  had 
inculcated  in  him  from  his  early  boyhood. 
He  was  not  one  whit  less  elegant,  less 
fastidious,  than  in  the  days  when  with  a 
few  choice  spirits,  congenial  companions, 
he  had  made  the  tour  of  the  Old  World, 
and  supped  in  the  great  illuminated  halls 
of  titled  foreigners,  and  drank  the  spark- 
ling moselle  in  delicate,  amber-colored 
glasses,  where  haughty,  jeweled  maidens 
smiled  upon  him,  and  thought  the  man- 
ners of  the  distmgue  young  American  ''so 
charming,"  "so  free  from  affectation." 


DEATH    OF   ST.     MAURICE.  I45 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

DEATH  OF  LIEUT.  ST.  MAURICE. 

The  forces  of  Jo.  Johnson's  army  were 
steadily  employed  all  day  long  in  throw- 
ing up  breast  works  for  the  impending 
battle.  There  was  quite  an  active  stir  in 
camp,  which  showed  that  events  of  great 
importance  were  at  hand.  Couriers  came 
and  went  from  head-quarters  in  a  sweep- 
ing gallop,  and  Confederate  officials  in 
high  authority  discussed  eagerly  and  with 
anxious  faces  the  present  situation  of  af- 
fairs— and  still  the  weary,  worn  soldiers 
spaded  up  the  yellow  clay,  while  nearly 
ready  to  faint  from  exhaustion. 

To  Marion  Hart,  who  never  for  one  mo- 
ment was  out  of  his  thoughts,  Lieutenant 
St.  Maurice  wrote  a  long  letter — the  last 
one  ever  penned  by  his  hand,  and  in 
many  places  blistered  with  tears,  almost 
rendering    some    words    wholly    illegible. 

H 


146  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE, 

Those  tears  were  no  disgrace  to  the 
manhood  of  the  proud,  strong  man,  from 
the  depths  of  whose  heart  they  were 
wrung  in  the  extremity  of  grief  and  deep 
sorrow. 

Sitting  under  the  shadow  of  a  great 
tree,  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  staff,  who 
were  discussing  the  probable  issue  of  the 
impending  battle,  lounging  and  smoking 
around  head-quarters.  Lieutenant  St.  Mau- 
rice wrote  the  last  lines  that  would  ever 
reach  the  eyes  of  Marion  Hart,  and  over 
which  she  was  to  weep  the  bitterest  tears 
in  all  her  after-life — the  dreamy,  aimless 
after-life — that  was  to  come  to  her,  when 
every  vestige  of  happiness  would  be  fled 
forever,  and  the  present  only  haunted  by 
the  ghosts  of  memories  that  would  stalk 
through  the  empty  chambers  of  the  heart, 
awakening  echoes  that  could  only  sadden 
and  bring  no  consolation.  The  letter  ran 
thus: 

Head-Quarters,  .    .    .  Brigade,  .    .  ,  Ga. 

My  Darlings  Marimi : — We  are  on  the  eve  of  another  great 

battle,  and  I  am  writing  to  you  for  the  last  time.     Do  you 

understand  that,    my  darling — for  the    last    time?      In    the 

many   battles  I  have  been  engaged,   I  have  never  felt  as  I 


DEATH    OF   ST.    MAURICE.  1 4/ 

have  to-day.  There  is  an  instinct — a  something  within  me 
— that  tells  me  that  ere  the  sun  of  the  coming  morrow  shall 
have  set  in  blood  and  smoke,  my  soul  will  have  passed  into 
eternity;  my  spirit  have  gone  before  the  Ruler  who  judges 
all  things  righteously.  In  this  supreme  moment  my  heart  is 
with  you,  where  it  has  always  been  since  we  parted  in  the 
gloaming,  when  I  bade  you  a  final  adieu,  under  the  old  oak 
tree  on  the  ledge  of  rocks  at  our  favorite  tryst.  You  are  al- 
ways present  in  my  thoughts — your  dear  image  never  leaves 
my  mind  for  an  instant,  whether  on  the  frozen  shores  of  the 
Potomac,  on  the  long,  hard,  forced  marches  in  the  wet, 
dreary  night,  or  on  the  flowery  plains  of  Georgia,  I  have 
thought  of  you  incessantly. 

I  have  prayed  many  times  that  I  might  be  permitted  to 
live  through  the  horrible  scenes  that  I  have  witnessed — 
pass  through  all  the  bloodshed,  tears,  and  death — and  one 
day  present  myself  before  you,  unexpected  and  unannounced  ; 
but  God  has  willed  it  otherwise.  To-morrow,  before  the  sun 
shall  have  reached  the  zenith,  I  shall  be  gone. 

Ah,  my  darling,  do  you  know  what  it  costs  me  to  write 
these  words?  If  I  could  only  press  my  lips  to  yours  once 
more — if  I  could  only  fold  my  arms  around  you,  and  feel 
your  heart  with  its  passionate  throbs  of  love  beating  against 
my  own — I  would  give  worlds. 

The  miniature  you  had  painted  for  me  in  Charleston,  after 
you  found  that  I  had  enlisted  in  the  army,  I  have  always 
worn  next  my  heart ;  and  many,  many  times,  it  has  been  un- 
der a  perfect  hail-storm  of  bullets.  There  is  a  defaced 
place  on  the  case  which  encircles  your  dear  face,  a  broken 
edge,  done  amid  the  lurid  smoke  at  Chickamauga,  when  a 
bullet  narrowly  escaped  reaching  my  heart,  and  tore  the 
case  of  your  picture ;  and  when  I  came  out  from  that  battle 
unscathed,  I  could  only  press  my  lips  to  the  inanimate  glass 
that  covered  my  darling's  face  and  thank  God.  You  were 
far  from  the  field  of  danger  in  reality. 

The  dear  little  bible  you  gave  me  at  parting  has  been  my 


148  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

nightly  companion.  Fi-om  its  well-worn  pages  I  have  tried 
to  gain  consolation  and  hope.  If  I  have  done  wrong  in  any- 
thing, may  God  forgive  me.  I  know  that  I  have  tried  harder 
than  I  have  ever  done  before  to  lead  the  life  of  a  Christian, 
ever  since  I  became  a  soldier.  I  have  been  assailed  on  all 
sides  by  temptation,  and  if  I  have  failed  in  my  duty,  may  I 
be  forgiven ;  it  was  an  error  more  of  the  head  than  of  the 
heart. 

My"  sash  and  sword  I  bequeath  to  you,  and  will  give  in- 
structions to  your  brother  Victor  to  send  them  to  you,  al- 
though he  laughs  at  what  he  calls  my  "superstition;"  yet 
I  could  see  a  gloomy  light  in  his  eyes  when  I  told  him  that  I 
felt  certain  I  would  be  killed  to-morrow;  and  I  know  he 
feels  badly,  too,  for  he  has  not  looked  at  me  since  without 
that  sad,  wistful  expression.  I  had  not  thought  it  would 
affect  him  so  deeply,  yet  I  ought  to  have  known  it,  after  all. 

You  will  come  to  my  grave  sometimes,  dear  Love,  when 
the  war  shall  have  ended,  and  peace  restored  to  our  long- 
suffering,  hard-tried  land.  You  will  drop  bitter,  burning 
tears  when  the  first  snows  of  winter  shall  silently  wrap  your 
lover's  grave  in  its  shroud  of  white,  and  sadly  think,  "ah 
they  are  falling  on  his  grave."  And  when  the  snows  shall 
have  melted  away  and  the  balmy  breath  of  spring  comes 
stealing  over  all  our  South  land  in  its  slumbrous  beauty, 
and  the  crocuses  and  violets  are  lifting  their  frail  heads 
above  the  yellow  grasses,  you  will  lay  a  chaplet  of  wild- 
flowers,  culled  by  your  own  hands,  and  wet  with  your  tears, 
above  the  sod  that  covers  all  that  is  left  of  me. 

My  poor  father  and  mother — you  will  comfort  them  if  you 
can.  Tell  them  that  with  my  latest  breath  I  blessed  them, 
and  in  the  depths  of  humility  I  thank  them  for  the  holy 
love  they  bore  me,  and  the  kind  affection  by  which  I  was  al- 
ways surrounded. 

Your  brother  Victor  has  been  more  than  a  brother  to  me, 
the  very  best  friend  I  ever  had,  and  I  have  no  words  to  ex- 
press the  affection  I  feel  for  him. 


DEATH    OF    ST.    MAURICE.  1 49 

I  feel  assured  of  the  deep,  abiding  love  you  have  always 
borne  for  me.  "Perfect  love  casteth  out  fear."  I  have  never 
for  an  instant  doubted  you,  and  I  know  the  anguish  that 
will  wring  your  heart  when  these  lines  reach  your  eyes. 
How  often  have  I  repeated  to  myself  these  words:  "Tender 
and  true,"  when  thinking  of  you  in  all  our  happy  past !  How 
often  I  am  with  you  in  my  dreams,  and  awake  to  the  bitter 
reality  of  knowing  that  weary  miles  of  space  divide  us !  Yet 
I  would  not  repine.  May  Heaven  bless  you  to-night  and 
sustain  you  I 

Once  more,  my  darling,  farewell!  a  long  farewell!  The 
unseen  Angel  of  Death  is  flapping  his  wings  near  me !  I 
feel  his  ice-cold  breath  on  my  cheek,  and  hear  the  voice  that 
says,  "Thy  career  on  earth  is  ended,  O  mortal!  Come!" 
I  go  to  join  that  band  of  pale  sleepers.     Farewell ! 

Gilbert  St.  Maurice. 

Long  did  Lieutenant  St.  Maurice  sit  af- 
ter his  brother  officers  had  retired  to 
snatch  a  few  moments  of  repose  to  be 
prepared  for  the  morning  strife,  by  his 
camp-fire,  and  gaze  gloomily  at  the  smoul- 
dering coals,  reading  his  doom — death — 
in  the  heavy,  black  shadows  cast  by  the 
dying,  flickering  firelight.  The  chance 
discharge  of  a  gun  ;  the  neighing  of  horses 
that  stood  tethered  to  the  boughs  of  trees 
around  head-quarters ;  the  stifled  hum  of 
the  two  hosts  resting  on  their  arms,  only 
waiting  for  the  morn  to  usher  in  Day  with 
its  splendid,  golden  banners,  from  the  far 


150  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

east,  were  the  only  sounds  that  broke  the 
silence  of  the  night.  Still  he  sat  and 
mused  by  the  camp-fire's  dying  light,  with 
his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  and  reflected 
on  the  checkered  scenes  of  the  past  few 
years.  When  a  boy,  and  he  had  read  of 
the  great  exploits  of  Wellington,  Napo- 
leon, and  a  host  of  other  great  warriors, 
their  brilliant  deeds  thrilled  him  through 
and  through,  and  it  seemed  strange  now 
that  he  was  a  participant  in  events  that 
were  daily  going  to  make  history.  Once 
he  heard  a  sigh  and  a  slight  movement 
near  him,  and  turning  his  head  he  saw 
by  the  fitful  firelight  the  form  of  his  be- 
loved friend,  Victor  Hart,  leaning  on  one 
elbow,  and  gazing  steadily  at  him  through 
the  gloom,  with  an  intensity  of  expression 
that  betrayed  the  anxiety  he  felt  on  his 
account. 

Major  Hart  had  wrapped  himself  in  his 
cavalry  cape,  and  with  his  gray  cap,  which 
bore  a  single  golden  star,  under  his  head 
for  a  pillow,  was  trying  to  get  a  few  mo- 
ments of  rest  before  morning ;  yet  the 
effort  had  been  in  vain.     The  prophetic 


DEATH    OF   ST.    MAURICE.  I5I 

words  of  his  friend  St.  Maurice  haunted 
him  so  persistently  that  it  drove  all  sleep 
from  his  eyes.  ''I  shall  be  dead  to-mor- 
row noon,"  rang  in  his  ears  until  the  echo 
haunted  him  like  an  unwelcome  ghost.  At 
last  he  spoke  : 

"St.  Maurice,  you  are  not  going  to  sit 
where  you  are  all  night,  I  hope.     Are  you 
not  going  to  try  to  snatch  a  few  hours  of 
slumber,  so  as  to  feel  fresh  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

**  I  do  not  know,  Victor ;  I  have  scarcely 
thought  about  it.  I  suppose  it  will  make 
but  little  difference  to-morrow  whether  I 
rested  or  not." 

''Gilbert,  dear,  true,  tried  friend,  your 
words  pierce  me  like  an  arrow !  It  would 
nearly  kill  me  to  lose  you.  I  pray  that  your 
instincts  may  deceive  you  this  once." 

Major  Hart  had  come  and  sat  down  by 
St.  Maurice,  and  placed  one  strong  arm 
on  his  shoulder. 

"Ah,  Victor,  dear  old  fellow,  you  and  I 
have  lived  and  loved  each  other  through 
many  a  changing  scene. 

And  St.  Maurice  passed  his  hand  over 


152  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

the  brown,  disordered  locks  of  his  faithful 
friend  with  the  very  caressing  tenderness 
of  a  woman.  There  was  an  unspoken 
blessing  in  the  very  accent  with  which  he 
addressed  him,  an  exquisite  pathos  in  the 
voice,  as  if  there,  too,  were  unshed  tears. 

Major  Hart  replenished  the  dying  camp- 
fire,  and  resolved  to  sit  up  the  balance  of 
the  night  with  his  friend,  whose  usual 
cheerfulness  had  ended  in  a  gloomy  des- 
pondency ;  and  going  back,  in  thought,  to 
their  proud  native  State,  South  Carolina, 
they  recalled  every  familiar  incident  from 
their  early  boyhood  up  to  the  time  when 
they  had  graduated  together  at  Yale  Col- 
lege, and  from  then  to  the  stirring  scenes 
of  camp-life  since  May,  1861,  when  they 
first  went  to  Virginia,  up  to  the  pres- 
ent time.  His  voice  grew  more  and  more 
indistinct,  and  his  accents  fainter  and 
fainter.  At  last  St.  Maurice  slept.  Major 
Hart  never  changed  his  position,  but  sup- 
ported the  tired  head  on  his  faithful  shoul- 
der, and  thought  sadly  of  the  morrow. 
He  slept  quietly  for  half  an  hour  as  peace- 
fully as  a  child,  and  then  his  slumber  was 


DEATH    OF    ST.    MAURICE.  1 53 

broken  by  fitful  starts,  and  at  last  he  threw 
up  his  arm  with  an  expression  of  acute 
pain,  and  opening  his  eyes  wildly,  ex- 
claimed, ''Great  God  !  Victor,  I  dreamed  I 
was  shot  through  the  heart !  " 

The  instinct  of  Lieutenant  St.  Maurice 
had  told  him  truly;  yet  his  brother  offi- 
cers laughed  at  his  fears  the  day  before, 
and  told  him  he  was  getting  "supersti- 
tious," that  "so  much  fighting  from  Chat- 
tanooga to  Dalton  and  onward  had  un- 
manned him."  They  were  wrong.  It  was 
not  fear.  Those  who  knew  him  best,  also 
knew  no  human  being  was  ever  braver. 
It  was  the  "shadows  of  the  coming  events." 
Men  have  often  had  premonitions  of  death 
on  the  eve  of  great  battles. 

Lieutenant  St.  Maurice  had  been  in  the 
thickest  of  the  fight  all  the  morning,  as 
cool  and  self-possessed  as  if  he  had  been 
on  dress  parade,  and  at  one  time  he  led  a 
cavalry  charge  up  the  hill  where  the  ene- 
my was  massed  and  doing  great  damage 
to  the  Confederate  artillerymen,  swept 
them  from  their  position  and  scattered 
them    in    confusion    amidst    the   wildest 


154  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

cheering  and  yelling  that  ever  rent  the 
air.  It  was  then  that  he  lost  his  life — a 
life  that  all  the  blood  in  the  Yankee  army 
could  not  atone  for. 

After  the  battle,  strong  men  wept 
when  they  beheld  Lieutenant  St.  Maurice, 
stretched  at  full  length  on  the  ground, 
smiling  and  serene,  even  in  death,  which 
had  not  marred  his  imperial  beauty.  It 
was  a  spectacle  that  would  have  melted 
the  stoutest  heart  to  tears.  The  battle 
which  had  raged  furiously  at  intervals  all 
day,  ceased  with  the  setting  sun.  The 
night  that  followed  was  filled  with  strange 
sights  and  sounds.  The  groans  of  the 
wounded  and  dying ;  the  occasional  boom 
of  a  gun,  sullen  and  threatening,  which 
told  that  the  enemy  were  still  on  the  qui 
vive ;  the  pallid  moon,  struggling  through 
the  masses  of  light  clouds  that  ever  and 
anon  obscured  her  mournful  radiance, 
were  sad  indeed. 

Major  Hart  had  also  been  where  the 
bullets  were  thickest,  but  had  come  out 
untouched,  unhurt.  Was  it  Providence, 
reader,   that    amid   all   that   hail-storm   of 


DEATH    OF    ST.     MAURICE.  155 

grape  and  canister,  he  should  have  es- 
caped unhurt,  while  so  many  of  his  com- 
rades lay  dead  and  dying  around  him,  or 
so  frightfully  torn  by  fragments  of  shell  ? 

It  was  after  nightfall  when  Victor  Hart 
reached  the  body  of  his  friend,  and  threw 
himself  on  the  ground  beside  him,  and 
wrapping  his  arms  around  him,  wept  like 
a  broken-hearted  child,  and  kissed  many 
times  with  the  very  tenderness  of  a  woman 
the  still,  cold  face  of  him  who  had  been 
for  years  his  dearest  friend,  with  a  heart 
well  nieh  broken  with  sorrow.  And  the 
grim  warriors,  standing  by,  wept  in  sym- 
pathy. 

A  grave  was  hurriedly  dug,  and  kindly 
hands  enfolded  him  in  the  colors  he  loved 
so  well,  the  Confederate  flag,  and  for 
which  he  had  given  his  brave  young  life, 
and  tenderly  laid  him  down  to  his  dream- 
less slumber.  And  men  stood  with  abated 
breath  as  the  clods  fell  with  a  dull,  heavy 
sound  over  the  body  of  the  young  hero. 
The  winds  sighed  mournfully  through  the 
pine  tops,  where  the  very  stars  seemed  to 
look    with   solemn    pity   over  the    newly- 


156  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

made  grave.  Major  Hart  knelt  above  the 
mound  of  clay,  and  offered  up  a  prayer 
for  the  soul  of  his  brother  officer,  whose 
instincts  had  told  him  so  truly. 

It  was  a  weird,  lugubrious  scene,  with 
the  moon  ever  and  anon  engulfed  in  the 
dark  clouds  that  rolled  rapidly  across  the 
sky,  now  lighting  up  the  powder-be- 
grimed ,  faces  of  the  weary  soldiers  with 
brilliant  radiance  —  again  drifting  into 
shadow,  amid  the  groans  of  the  wounded, 
and  the  solemn  voice  of  Victor  Hart  as  he 
prayed  for  the  soul  of  his  dead  friend. 
They  placed  a  small  board,  with  name  and 
rank  attached,  and  left  him  alone  in  the 
hot  July  night. 

O  summer  moon  and  stars,  who  looked 
with  such  solemn  pity  above  the  noble 
dead ;  who  saw  another  scene,  days  later, 
when  the  sound  of  a  woman's  wail  came, 
borne  on  the  stifling  summer  night,  from 
far-off  South  Carolina !  It  was  Rachel, 
weeping  and  refusing  to  be  comforted. 

Thus,  O  Grave,  thou  hast  thy  victory ! 
O  Death,  thou  hast  thy  sting ! 


COL.    ST.    MAURICE   AND    HIS    WIFE.  1 5/ 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

COLONEL  ST.  MAURICE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

We  will  in  mercy  draw  a  vail  over  the 
anguish  that  filled  the  mother's  heart,  lov- 
ing and  true,  and  laid  her,  too,  in  the 
grave  soon  afterwards.  She  never  rallied 
from  the  shock,  and  for  days  raved  and 
tore  her  hair  in  the  wildest  delirium,  and 
then  her  voice  would  sink  to  a  tearful 
whisper,  and  she  besought  God  in  the 
most  piteous  accents  to  give  her  back  her 
precious,  only  son,  which  was  always  suc- 
ceeded by  a  copious  flow  of  tears.  The 
pride  of  her  life  was  gone.  And  Gilbert 
St.  Maurice  slept  on  in  his  grave  under 
the  pine  trees  in  far-off  Georgia,  all  un- 
conscious of  the  anguish  that  wrung  two 
proud  women's  hearts.  Rest  in  peace, 
O  noble  soul !  Thine  was  a  glorious  ca- 
reer ! 

The  heart  of  the  proud  old  father,  Col- 


158  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

onel  St.  Maurice,  was  well-nigh  broken, 
for  he  had  loved  his  handsome  only  son 
with  a  love  almost  bordering  on  idolatry. 
When  Sherman's  army  reached  the  old 
St.  Maurice  plantation  on  which  his  fa- 
ther's fathers  had  lived  before  him,  and 
made  a  bonfire  of  all  his  valuable,  per- 
sonal possessions,  where  the  flames  lighted 
up  the  very  sky  with  a  red  glare,  and  the 
mad  Yankee  soldiery,  intoxicated  with  joy, 
made  the  night  hideous  with  their  shouts 
of  fiendish  triumph  and  glee  ;  when  he  saw 
his  wife's  handsome  rose-wood  piano,  with 
glittering  pearl  keys,  split  from  end  to 
end,  and  all  her  elegant  dinner  service  of 
exquisite  tinted  French  china,  with  its 
golden  monogram  in  the  center  of  each 
piece,  broken  in  ten  thousand  pieces  by 
axes  in  the  hands  of  Sherman's  valiant 
warriors ;  and  his  gardens  and  store- 
houses robbed  of  all  their  precious  treas- 
ures, and  all  the  costly  shrubbery  and 
statuary  hewn  and  cut  dow^n  by  those  ac- 
customed to  swing  the  axe  from  child- 
hood ;  when  he  saw  the  grave  of  his  lost 
and  cherished  wife  who  was  buried  by  the 


COL.     ST.     MAURICE    AND    HIS    WIFE.  1 59 

side  of  the  other  St.  Maurices,  who  had 
slept  undisturbed  for  years  in  the  old  fam- 
ily cemetery,  desecrated  and  trodden  by 
the  unhallowed  feet  of  the  Yankee  caval- 
rymen— yes,  when  he  beheld  all  this  and 
much  more,  the  light  of  reason  tottered 
on  its  throne,  and  then,  in  darkness,  went 
out  forever. 


And  when  strangers  wandered  over  the 
ruined  grounds,  amid  rank  luxuriance  of 
roses  and  honeysuckle,  and  tangled,  trail- 
ing vines,  tliey  would  sometimes  meet  an  old 
man  with  bowed  head  and  unkempt  beard, 
who  roamed  sadly  and  harmlessly  over  the 
place  where  he,  Colonel  St.  Maurice,  had 
once  been  the  lordly  owner  and  lived  in 
such  regal  splendor,  and  now  which  only 
presented  to  the  chance  passer-by  the 
ashes  of  desolation,  with  gorgeous  re- 
minders of  its  former  prosperity  and 
wealth. 

To  their  honor  be  it  said,  that  a  few  of 
the  old  servants  clung  to  the  unfortunate 
master  who  had  been  so  kind  to  them  and 


l6o  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

considerate  of  their  welfare,  and  gave  him 
bread  and  kind  words. 

There  was  only  one  spot  that  had  es- 
caped the  fire  which  consumed  the  prem- 
ises. To  the  right  of  the  main  building 
stood  a  little  office,  which  was  almost  cov- 
ered and  concealed  by  a  wealth  of  climb- 
ing vines,  full  of  starry,  snowy  blossoms. 
This  spot  had  been  the  favorite  resort  of 
Gilbert  St.  Maurice  in  his  happy  past.  It 
was  luxuriously  furnished,  and  contained 
his  entire  library.  There  were  two  sides 
of  the  room  filled  in  with  shelves  of  dark 
carved  wood  that  rose  to  the  ceiling,  filled 
with  the  thoughts  of  distinguished  person- 
ages of  every  age  and  clime.  From  the 
center  of  the  ceiling  depended  a  hand- 
some lamp,  with  delicate  porcelain  globe, 
which  had  used  to  emit  such  a  rich,  mellow 
light  over  all  the  rare  objects  scattered 
around,  where  Gilbert  St.  Maurice  dreamed 
his  dreams  in  his  younger,  happier  days. 
Over  the  mantle  hung  the  portraits  of  his 
father  and  mother,  drawn  expressly  for 
himself.  These  had  been  done  by  a  mas- 
ter painter,    and    intended    for    this    very 


COL.    ST.    MAURICE    AND    HIS    WIFE.  l6l 

room.  He  might  well  have  been  proud 
of  his  mother.  In  her  youth  she  had  been 
a  very  queen  of  beauty  ;  and  here,  in  this 
'portrait,  she  had  been  magnificently  hand- 
some in  her  trailing  robes  of  black  velvet, 
and  rare  old  point  lace  ;  and  around  the 
shapely,  white  throat,  a  necklace  of  dia- 
monds, which  had  been  a  wedding  gift 
from  her  husband  in  their  aristocrat^'c  days. 
The  father,  too,  was  stately  and  grand,  and 
a  kind  sweet  smile  seemed  to  beam  upon 
all  who  came  near  him. 

In  this  office  or  library,  which  had  not 
been  burned,  the  rude  soldiery  laid  violent 
hands  on  everything  that  chanced  to  come 
under  their  observation,  and  tore  the 
handsomely-bound  books,  in  their  elegant 
morocco  bindings,  from  the  shelves  and 
threw  them  through  the  windows  to  the 
ground,  with  their  torn  mutilated  covers, 
in  every  direction .  But  the  strangest 
thing  of  all — the  soldiers  never  touched 
the  portraits,  nor  the  handsome  leather- 
covered  reading  chair,  which  stood  in  the 
corner  of  the  room  undisturbed. 

In  this  office  the  old  man,  Colonel  St. 


1 62  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

Maurice  was  frequently  found,  sitting  in 
this  same  old  chair,  looking  vacantly 
around.  And  when  any  one  ventured  to 
address  him,  or  came  near  him,  he  would 
say  to  them  in  piteous  accents : 

''Tell  my  son  Gilbert  to  come  quickly; 
I  want  him.  Sherman's  soldiers  are  burn- 
ing my  house.  Hark !  Don't  you  hear 
them  in  there?"  pointing  to  the  spot 
where  the  house  stood.  ''Now  they  are 
splitting  the  furniture  with  axes  !  My  God, 
how  terrible !" 

Thus  he  would  ramble  on,  his  thoughts 
ever  recurring  to  the  burning  house,  and 
those  terrible  days  of  the  scourge  which 
swept  like  a  plague  through  the  doomed 
State  of  South  Carolina.  And  truly,  in- 
deed, did  this  unfortunate  place  realize 
one's  idea  of  the  "  deserted  home- 
stead"— 

"No  hand  above  the  window 

Ties  up  the  trailing  vines, 
And  through  the  broken  casement  panes 

The  moon  at  midnight  shines ; 
And  many  a  solemn  shadow 

Seems  starting  from  out  the  gloom, 
Like  forms  of  the  long  departed  ones 

Peopling  that  dim  old  room." 


COL.    ST.    MAURICE   AND    HIS    WIFE.  1 63 

The  very  portraits,  in  their  ancient 
grandeur,  seemed  to  say,  ''  I  could  a  tale 
unfold."  Could  there  be  imagined  any- 
thing more  sad  than  that  melancholy, 
bowed  old  man,  dreamily  wandering  ''  o'er 
a  land  long  deserted."  ''  Waiting,  only 
waiting,"  to  be  gathered  into  the  fold  of 
the  good  Shepherd  ? 

One  night  there  came  a  terrific  storm, 
and  the  thunders  roared  and  the  lightnings 
flashed.  The  giant  trees  that  had  stood 
guard  for  so  many  centuries  over  the  old 
homestead  were  torn  up  from  their  very 
roots,  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents, 
and  great  sheets  of  water  gleamed 
through  the  black  night  when  a  brilliant 
flash  of  lightning  revealed  it  to  the  eye. 
The  poor,  crazed  old  man.  Colonel  St. 
Maurice,  had,  with  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  which  is  the  first  law  of  na- 
ture, sought  and  found  shelter  in  the 
office  from  the  rain  while  the  storm  was  at 
its  height.  When  morning  dawned  in  the 
far  east,  the  clouds  and  rain  had  passed 
away,  and  a  glorious  burst  of  sunshine 
lighted    up    the    grounds    and  dismantled 


164  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

trees  and  torn-down  fences.  During  the 
night  the  office  had  been  swept  away  by  the 
fierce  winds  and  rains,  and  now  was  found 
the  body  of  Colonel  St.  Maurice,  washed 
up  against  the  broken-down  fences — dead  ! 
The  poor,  care-worn  face  was  black  and 
bruised  in  many  places,  from  being  swept 
with  so  much  force  against  the  fences,  and 
there  was  a  meaningless  stare  in  the  va- 
cant, watery  eyes  which  were  wide  open, 
and  the  long,  uncared-for  hair  tangled  and 
muddy.  He  had  seen  the  ''  end  of  all 
earthly  things,"  and  one  more  "unfortu- 
nate" had  gone  to  answer  the  roll-call  in 
another  world. 

A  rough  coffin  was  furnished  by  the 
United  States  Government,  and  ruder 
Yankee  hands  dug  a  grave  in  the  old  cem- 
etery, and  laid  him  to  rest.  What  a  death 
and  burial  for  a  St.  Maurice  !  That  ancient, 
proud  family,  with  its  boasted,  spotless  es- 
cutcheon, and  long  line  of  splendid  ances- 
try !  Alas  !  that  such  should  be  the  finale 
— that  families  should  decay  and  the  scum 
should  come  to  the  surface,  as  it  has  hap- 
pened many  times  since  the  war. 


INCIDENTS    AMONG    YANKEE    SOLDIERS.        1 65 


CHAPTER  XX. 

IN     WHICH      MAJOR     HART     REPENTS     OF     HIS 

UNIONISM  —  INCIDENTS     AMONG     THE 

YANKEE   SOLDIERS. 

In  those  last  years  of  the  war  we  think 
Major  Hart  had  occasion  to  repent  him  of 
his  Unionism.  When  Sherman's  army 
which  had  nearly  completed  its  ''  march  to 
the  sea"  entered  the  State  of  South  Car- 
olina, different  bodies  of  soldiers  quartered 
themselves  on  his  premises,  unhandsomely 
appropriating  whatever  they  saw  fit,  utterly 
regardless  of  prayers,  and  entreaties,  and 
tears.  We  think  if  Major  Hart,  who  had 
all  his  life  been  so  arrogant  and  over-bear- 
ing to  those  upon  whom  he  chose  to  re- 
gard with  such  lordly  indifference  as  his 
inferiors  and  socially  beneath  him,  could 
have  recalled  the  past,  he  would  have  un- 
hesitatingly cast  his  fortunes  with  the 
despised  Confederacy,  and  possibly,  if  he 
could,  have  recalled  the  contumely  which 


1 66  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 

he  saw  fit  to  heap  on  that  body  of  people 
in  those  first  years  of  the  war.  But  it 
was  too  late.  They,  his  Yankee  friends, 
swarmed  over  his  well-tilled  fields  like  an 
army  of  locusts,  literally  devouring  every 
green  thing.  They  wanted  to  "  test "  the 
Major's  "Unionism"  they  affirmed  with  a 
sly  leer  in  the  eye.  If  he  was  true  to 
their  cause  he  would  naturally,  of  course, 
want  to  assist  in  a  measure  his  Union 
friends  who  had  been  so  long  in  reaching 
him.  What  could  Major  Hart  do  but  ex- 
postulate ? — which,  with  those  of  their  ilk, 
literally  amounted  to — nothing.  These 
valiant  defenders  of  the  Government  at 
Washington,  who,  as  they  affirmed,  had 
fought  all  the  way  from  Chattanooga  to 
Dalton,  and  from  thence  to  Atlanta,  yet 
onward,  never  stopping  until  the  sacred 
precincts  of  South  Carolina,  the  very  hot- 
bed of  ''  fire-eating,"  had  been  invaded — 
pillaged,  we  had  better  written — by  the 
soldiery  in  blue,  commanded  by  officers 
with  no  more  self-respect  or  principle  than 
the  common  soldiery  themselves,  who 
often  when  entering  an  evacuated,  or,  say, 


INCIDENTS   AMONG    YANKEE    SOLDIERS.        16/ 

conquered  stronghold,  maintained  not  a 
shadow  of  dIscipHne,  and  many  times  de- 
generated into  a  mere  mob.  Answer,  ye 
conquered  cities  of  the  South  !  Is  it  not 
true? 

The  imposing  dignity  of  the  grand  army 
of  the  United  States,  was  a  thing  of  the 
past — had  become  a  myth.  When  that 
stately  array  of  brilliant  names,  Robert  E. 
Lee,  Beaureguard,  the  two  Johnsons,  Jack- 
son, and  a  host  of  others  withdrew  from 
the  sheltering  folds  of  the  "stars  and 
stripes,"  which  long  ago  had  been  the  pride 
of  the  world,  they,  the  Yankees,  lost  caste 
forever.  Their  lofty  prestige  was  gone, 
and  from  the  ashes  of  the  over-thrown  al- 
tars there  arose  a  mob,  a  vile,  scuffling 
rabble  that  swept  throughout  the  South 
like  a  destroyer  with  fire  and  sword,  and 
murder,  approved  and  sanctioned  by  those 
in  authority  at  Washington,  who  laughed 
gleefully  as  they  drank  their  iced  wine, 
and  smoked  their  cigars,  and  read  the 
morning  papers  that  contained  the  news  of 
the  wanton  destruction  of  property  in  the 
conquered  strongholds — the  murder,  and 


1 68  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

driving  forth  of  innocent  women  and  chil- 
dren from  their  homes  into  the  pitiless, 
driving  rain  and  sleet,  in  the  hours  of 
darkness,  whose  greatest  and  perhaps 
only  fault  was  that  those  whom  they  loved 
best  and  held  dearest  wore  the  Confed- 
erate gray,  and  were  fighting,  hungry  and 
illy  clothed,  for  the  homes  of  their  fathers. 
And  yet,  what  a  cringing,  whining,  abject 
set  they  were  when  they  became  prisoners ! 
We  have  seen  them,  the  would-be  tyrants, 
shorn  of  the  insignia  of  office,  and  their 
cowardly  fear  was  absolutely  sickening. 
Not  showing  the  undaunted  front  of  a 
brave  enemy  who  feels  he  is  right,  and 
therefore  has  respect  for  himself.  No, 
these  precious  Yankee  soldiers  who  came 
from  every  hiding  place  of  corruption 
throughout  the  North,  were  brave  enough 
as  long  as  they  were  under  the  protection 
of  their  own  colors ;  but  just  let  them  be 
captured  by  the  Rebels,  and  lo !  presto, 
change  :  their  courage  vanished  as  mists 
before  the  morning  sunlight. 

We  speculate  amusedly  sometimes  now, 
when  we  remember  how  much  importance 


INCIDENTS   AMONG    YANKEE    SOLDIERS.        1 69 

they,   the    Yankee    officers    and    soldiers, 
seemed  to  attach  to  the  sayings  and  do- 
ings  of  the  women  and  children  of  the 
South,   who   often    had   no   other    way  of 
showing  their  contempt   for  them  except 
by  averted  looks  and  scornful  faces,  and 
many  times  by  a  "war  of  words,"  which 
roused  their  ire  as  much  as  anything  else 
could  have  done.    We  can  only  laugh  now 
when   we   remember  a   remark   made    by 
a   certain    Captain    Church,    of    General 
Mitchell's    Divison   of    Yankee    soldiers, 
who  entered  Murfreesboro  soon  after  the 
fall  of  Fort  Donelson,  which  was  certainly 
unique    if  nothing    more.     This    Captain 
Church  said  that  the  ladies  of  Nashville 
made  '^  shapes"  at  the    Yankee  soldiers 
when  they  came  into  the  city.     He  meant 
^' faces,"  but  invented  a  new  mode  of  ex- 
pressing it.     Although  the  years  of  the 
war  were  full   of  gloom  and   sorrow,  and 
the  people  were  quite  unlike  their  former 
selves,  yet  they  had  to  laugh  sometimes  in 
spite  of  themselves.     Thus,  we  happened 
to   know  of  an  ''enemy"   that  had  been 
transferred  from  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 


170  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

to  Middle  Tennessee,  going  round  to  the 
houses  of  private  citizens  with  a  large, 
old-fashioned  wooden  pill-box  full  of  soda, 
trying  to  exchange  it  for  milk,  for  which 
they  had  an  insatiable  craving.  Well,  this 
attentive,  observing  youth  in  blue  had  read 
in  the  newspapers,  or  heard  somewhere, 
that  soda  was  a  scarce  commodity  in  the 
store-rooms  of  Tennessee  house-keepers. 
So,  like  his  illustrious  predecessors,  he 
cast  him  about,  ever  on  the  qui  vive  for  a 
bargain,  and  sought  to  benefit  himself  by 
the  exchange  of  that  chemical  ingredient, 
doled  out  to  him  by  his  Father  Abraham, 
so  necessary  in  the  making  of  good  bread. 
Although  we  imagine  that  Tennessee 
house-keepers  would  take  their  biscuits 
and  cakes  "flat"  a  long  time  before  they 
would  use  soda  that  had  traveled  all  the 
way  from  the  Old  Dominion  in  the  pock- 
ets of  a  not  very  refined  Yankee  soldier. 
N'importe. 

Speaking  of  their  inordinate  fondness 
for  the  foamy,  snowy  fluid,  it  was  no  unu- 
sual occurrence,  but  au  contraire,  a  very 
common  thing  to  see,  both  mornings  and 


INCIDENTS    AMONG    YANKEE    SOLDIERS.        I7I 

evenings,  some  of  these  valiant  warriors 
in  the  attitude  of  "  milk-maids,"  and  who, 
if  interrupted,  condescended  to  explain 
they  were  "just  getting  enough  to  dilute 
their  coffee,"  and  the  supreme  impudence 
of  the  whole  affair  would  strike  one  as 
being  so  laughable  that  they  usually  con- 
cluded thereafter  not  to  disturb  them  in 
their  self-imposed  task,  but  trusting  to 
their  honesty  (?)  and  better  judgment  to 
quit  when  they  had  supplied  their  can- 
teens with  enough  to  "go  into  their  cof- 
fee." 

One  reminiscence  calls  forth  another. 
Poor  imbecile  old  General  Van  Cleve ! 
He  commanded  post  here  for  a  good 
many  months,  and  he  was  not  a  very  bril- 
liant military  genius  either — only  a  very 
harmless  one.  He' was  fond  of  a  good 
dinner,  and  an  afternoon  nap,  and  dearly 
loved  to  repose  his  patriarchal  head  on 
smooth,  downy  pillows,  far  away  from  the 
dust  and  smoke  and  heat  of  battle.  A 
night-cap  would  have  been  infinitely  be- 
coming to  him — such  a  one  as  Red 
Ridinghood's    grandmother    might    have 


1/2  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

worn  when  the  wolf  ate  her  up.  How 
he  used  to  tremble  at  every  random  pistol 
shot,  always  in  mortal  fear  of  a  raid.  You 
see  they  attached  great  importance  to 
raids,  which  had  become  quite  the  fashion 
throughout  the  South,  which,  on  account 
of  the  exceeding  great  disparity  in  num- 
bers between  the  Confederate  and  Fed- 
eral armies,  were  practiced  to  a  great 
extent,  so  that  whenever  the  two  armies 
could  not  meet  in  open  field,  detached 
bodies  of  these  daring  cavalrymen  struck 
out  somewhere  in  quest  of  the  enemy, 
which  they  never  failed  to  find,  and  for 
a  few  moments  wild  cheers  and  the  ring- 
ing of  carbines  would  explain  that  the 
''  boys  in  gray  "  had  awakened  the  Yankees 
somewhere,  and  they  usually  returned 
with  a  goodly  array  of  prisoners,  for 
whom  nothing  could  be  done  except  to 
"parole"  them  and  send  them  back  to 
''  unfold  a  story  "  to  those  who  had  a  mili- 
tary right  to  enquire  into  their  unexpected 
absence. 

And  with  what  frantic  haste  did  General 
Van    Cleve's    couriers    sometimes    arrive 


INCIDENTS    AMONG    YANKEE    SOLDIERS.        1 73 

from  head-quarters,  Into  the  houses  of  cit- 
izens, with  orders  from  the  General,  171 
propria pcrsoiinc,  to  "evacuate"  the  town 
immediately,  which  they  would  read  In  a 
rapid,  excited  way,  almost  unintelligible  to 
any  one  but  themselves,  so  great  was 
their  fear — something  after  the  style  of 
those  who  "flee  "  when  none  ''pursue." 
We  remember  one  quiet  summer  morn- 
ing to  have  been  sitting  In  the  front  hall, 
lazily  turning  the  pages  of  a  new  maga- 
zine, when  suddenly  and  unannounced, 
at  our  feet  dropped  one  of  the  Yankee 
couriers — and  whether  he  came  through 
the  roof  or  the  open  door  we  have  never 
been  able  to  satisfy  ourselves ;  any  how 
he  fell  to  reading  one  of  these  precious 
dispatches  from  General  Van  Cleve,  stat- 
ing that  "all  citizens  must  leave  town  im- 
mediately ;  [where  we  were  all  to  go, 
General  Van  Cleve  forgot  to  tell  us] 
that  a  large  body  of  Rebels  was  bearing 
down  on  Murfreesboro  " — from  the  east  or 
west,  I  do  not  remember  which.  At  any 
rate.  General  Van  Cleve  was  going  to 
"shell  the  town"  in  "one  hour  (!)  after 


174  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

the  approach  of  the  Rebels."  We  said  to 
the  courier,  "  You  seem  to  be  frightened  ;" 
and  he  looked  at  us  with  a  look  which  the 
dying  Caesar  might  have  turned  on  Brutus, 
and  said,  "  It  may  be  a  good  deal  of  fun 
to  you,  Miss  ;  but  it  is  no  fun  to  us."  And 
we  have  not  a  doubt  that  that  remark  con- 
tained more  truth  than  any  ever  made  by 
that  same  soldier,  since  he  served  un- 
der the  banner  of  his  Father  Abraham. 
Charge,  Chester ! 


CAPTAIN    BUCKINGHAM.  1/5 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

CAPTAIN  BUCKINGHAM. 

It  was  one  of  the  hallucinations  of  the 
presiding  dignity  at  Murfreesboro,  that 
every  man,  woman,  and  child,  was  carrying 
on  a  clandestine  correspondence  with  the 
Rebel  army,  and  giving  "  aid  and  informa- 
tion "  to  those  in  authority.  Consequently 
we  were  not  surprised  at  any  time  to  see  a 
detachment  of  these  distinguished  gentle- 
men invade  our  premises,  and  halt  in  front 
of  our  door  a  line  of  polished  muskets, 
while  the  *'  Major  "or  the '' Captain  "  of  the 
squad,  accompanied  by  one  or  two  trusty 
aids,  made  a  general  search  of  our  entire 
possessions.  Had  they  shown  the  same 
frantic  haste  to  meet  the  Rebels  in  fair, 
open  fight  on  the  battle  field  as  they  were 
eager  in  regard  to  citizens'  trivial  corres- 
pondence, that  imposing  body,  who  sat  in 
state  at  Washington,  would  not  have  been 


l']6  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE- 

such  a  long  time  ''  crushing  the  great  Re- 
belHon.'' 

Such  a  rummaging  of  closets,  and  pull- 
ing out  drawers,  and  scattering  one's  love 
letters  in  dire  ''  confusion  worse  con- 
founded," we  earnestly  hope  we  may  never 
see  again  ;  and  the  grinning  idiots  seemed 
to  enjoy  that  kind  of  warfare  (?)  more 
than  anything  else.  Perhaps  such  petty 
sports  corresponded  well  to  their  small 
caliber. 

In  what  awful  judgment  did  our  Father 
Confessors  sit  upon  us,  and  ply  us  with 
questions  as  to  **  where,  when,  and  how," 
we  last  heard  from  our  Southern  friends, 
all  of  which  questions  the  citizens  took 
great  pleasure  in  answering,  and  they  may 
also  flatter  themselves  they  generally  bore 
''  flying  colors  "  from  the  field  in  that  con- 
test of  words  where  they  measured  lances, 
and  Greek  met  Greek  in  fair,  open  fight. 

Captain  Buckingham,  of  Ohio,  the 
Yankee  Provost  Marshal,  under  the  /r- 
gime  of  General  Van  Cleve  !  It  would  be 
morally  wrong  to  pass  over  the  reigning 
deities  of  that  summer  without  giving  him 


CAFfAIN    BUCKINGHAM.  1 7/ 

his  "  dues,"  and  paying  off  old  scores. 
The  Captain  presented  his  august  self  one 
morning,  accompanied  by  a  detachment  oi 
Yankee  soldiers,  with  drawn  bayonets, 
and  asked  to  see  our  humble  self.  We 
answered  his  summons  with  alacrity,  and 
sat  down  to  await  an  explanation  of  his 
honor's  presence.  You  see,  we  had  al- 
ready been  made  ''loyal"  according  to 
the  code  prescribed  by  those  functionaries 
who  presided  over  the  destinies  of  nations, 
at  Washington  ;  yet  we  had  come  from 
the  South  through  the  Yankee  lines,  some 
months  previous  with  a  special  "pass," 
granted  and  signed  in  person  by  the  Fed- 
eral General  Mitchell  himself,  at  his  own 
head-quarters,  where  we  were  unfortunately 
caught  in  their  lines,  and  had  no  other  alter- 
native but  to  return  home.  General  Mitch- 
ell treated  us  quite  courteously,  and  ques- 
tioned us  as  to  the  state  of  our  feelings  on 
the  subject  of"  Unionism,"  which  we  can- 
didly avowed,  after  which  the  General  in- 
formed us  he  thought  it  would  be  commit- 
ing  a  "sin  "  for  us  to  take  the  "oath," 
which   proved   he  was  more  fastidious  in 


1/8  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

his  Ideas  of  honor  than  others  of  his 
brothers  In  arms. 

So,  thanking  General  Mitchell  for  his 
unexpected  kindness,  and  with  the  "  pass" 
in  our  possession,  we  arrived  home  one 
hot  day  In  July.  We  will  never  forget  it, 
as  it  marked  an  epoch  in  our  life.  We 
had  scarcely  had  time  to  brush  off  the 
dust  of  the  Confederacy,  before  a  messen- 
ger arrived  In  hot  haste,  with  a  guard  and 
an  order,  to  escort  us  to  head-quarters. 
And,  under  the  necessity  which  knows  no 
law,  we  signed  our  name  to  a  paper, 
known  as  the  "oath  of  allegiance,"  which 
was  virtually  a  falsehood,  and  Major 
Smith  and  his  satellites  knew  It  at  the 
time,  and  they,  not  zue,  are  responsible  for 
the  sin  If  we  committed  any.  Much  good 
they  ever  got  of  our  adhesion  to  that 
-oath." 

The  Major  prefaced  the  interview  which 
took  place  in  Colonel  Ready's  office  by 
assuming  that  we  had  become  tired  of  the 
Confederacy,  and  had  come  voluntarily  to 
renew  our  allegiance  to  the'  Government. 
He  spoke  exactly  as  if  we  had  come   to 


CAPTAIN    BUCKINGHAM.  1/9 

him  of  our  own  accord,  without  being  sent 
for.  But  when  an  emphatic  "No  "  came 
from  behind  our  veil,  the  Major  looked 
slightly  bewildered,  and  was  non-plussed 
for  the  moment  to  know  how  to  proceed. 
He  had  expected  from  us  not  defiance, 
but  timidity  ;  and  we  know  he  was  very 
much  irritated  when  we  signed  our  name 
in  a  scrawling,  illegible  hand,  which  no- 
body in  the  world  could  have  made  out, 
even  if  their  soul's  salvation  had  depended 
on  it.  Any  how,  he  made  us  to  write  it 
over  three  times  before  it  was  accom- 
plished to  his  satisfaction. 

Apropos  to  that,  a  friend  of  ours,  a  lady, 
was  sent  for  to  come  to  the  Provost  office, 
to  answer  some  indignity  shown  to  the 
Federal  flag.  The  guard  placed  himself 
at  the  lady's  side  in  the  position  of  an  at- 
tendant cavalier,  when  our  friend  coolly 
informed  him  he  would  either  have  to 
''walk  behind  or  in  front,  one  of  the  two, 
as  she  did  not  intend  for  a  Yankee  to  walk 
through  the  streets  by  Jiei'  side."  Neither 
did  she  ;  so  the  soldier  placed  himself  in 
front  with  "  forward  march  !  "  and  the  lady 


l80  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

followed  him  obediently  on  until  they 
reached  their  destination. 

But  to  return  to  Captain  Buckingham. 
We  were  saying,  when  interrupted  by  the 
recollection  of  this  little  incident,  we 
awaited  an  explanation  of  the  honor  (?) 
which  had  brought  the  Captain  to  our 
house.  It  was  not  long  coming.  He 
''had  been  informed" — through  what 
source  we  were  never  able  to  find  out — 
that  "  we  had  in  our  possession  an  album," 
(so  we  had;)  and  that  the  ''said  album 
contained  'treasonable  language,'"  (we 
are  repeating  verbatim,  et  literatim,  et 
punctuatim,)  "  dangerous  to  the  welfare  of 
the  Government  of  the  United  States," 
and  that  "  he,  Captain  Buckingham,  would 
like  for  us  to  produce  the  album." 

The  Captain  was  right  ;  we  did  possess 
an  album,  and  the  album  did  contain 
"  treasonable  language,"  and  also  the  un- 
fortunate autographs  of  a  number  of  our 
Southern  friends  who  wore  the  gray,  also 
a  wreath  of  stars  in  blue,  traced  in  an  idle 
hour  in  the  lonely  summer  of  1861,  and 
forming  the  original  Confederacy  constel- 


CAPTAIN    BUCKINGHAM.  I  0  I 

lation,  with  name  of  States  and  dates  of 
secession  attached,  with  proud  old  South 
CaroHna  occupying  the  central  post  of 
honor,  under  a  painted  Confederate  flag 
with  some  such  lines  as  the  following: 

*       *       *       *       *  "  Long  may  it  wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  home  of  the  slave." 

Which  was  certainly  very  "terrible  "  and 
very  ''  treasonable,"  when  we  come  to  think 
of  it.  How  potent  must  have  been  the 
mere  name  of  a  Rebel,  to  have  created 
such  fear  and  commotion  in  the  bosoms 
of  the  defenders  of  the  ''stars  and  stripes  " 
to  cause  a  provost  marshal  to  leave  his 
business  of  arresting  gentlemen  up-town, 
and  bring  a  guard  with  him,  to  trouble  his 
brain  about  a  poor,  little,  insignificant  al- 
bum, containing  a  dozen  or  two  Rebels' 
names,  for  them  to  have  raised  such  a  hue 
and  cry  in  that  *'  much  ado  about  nothing." 
Now  comes  the  cream  of  the  whole 
affair.  It  so  happened  that  our  album 
that  contained  the  unlucky  autographs  was 
from  home,  a  gentleman  acquaintance 
having  carried  it  home  with  him  a  day  or 


1 82  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

two  previous  to  the  time  we  speak  of,  to 
copy  some  poetry. 

We  informed  the  right  loyal  majesty  of 
the  Captain  of  this  fact,  and  expressed 
our  regret  in  courteous  terms  in  being  un- 
able to  produce  the  offending  document ; 
but  the  Captain  was  obdurate,  and  insisted 
on  'it  being  sent  for  immediately,  as  it  was 
''  dangerous  to  the  safety  of  the  Washing- 
ton Government." 

On  our  word  and  honor,  we  are  not  ex- 
aggerating in  the  least,  and  can  prove  that 
every  word  we  are  writing  is  the  truth. 
And  we  are  morally  certain  to-day  that 
Captain  Buckingham  always  believed  that 
our  album  was  intentionally  away  from 
home  ;  whereas,  we  had  never  given  the 
subject  a  thought  ;  and  we  also  think 
that  if  he  had  not  had  his  visual  organs 
gratified,  then  and  there,  that  he  would 
have  caused  General  Van  Cleve  to  order 
an  extra  relay  of  soldiers. 

He  dispatched  a  servant  to  the  house  of 
our  acquaintance,  with  a  note  to  return 
our  book.  The  servant  soon  returned 
with  the  information  that  the  gentleman's 


CAPTAIN    BUCKINGHAM.  1 83 

house  was  locked  up,  and  he  had  gone  up 
town.  In  the  meantime  Captain  Bucking- 
ham's brow  orrew  black  as  a  thunder- 
cloud ;  so  the  servant  went  on  errand 
number  two.  This  time  he  was  more  for- 
funate  ;  so,  after  all  that  botheration,  the 
Captain  had  the  pleasure  to  do  his  duty, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  report  to  his  superior 
officers. 

After  a  thorough  examination — we  think 
he  read  every  word  in  it,  from  beginning 
to  end — Captain  Buckingham  said  that  it 
would  be  "necessary  to  send  our  book  to 
General  Sherman,"  who  was  marching  to 
the  sea  through  Georgia.  So  the  Captain 
proceeded  to  relieve  ourself  of  our  pass, 
to  which  we  were  entitled  by  virtue  of  our 
'*  oath  of  allegiance:"  and  he  informed  us 
that  we  need  never  apply  for  another  pass 
from  them,  at  which  we  could  well  afford 
to  laugh,  remembering  we  had  no  where 
to  go,  and  if  we  had,  we  would  have  had 
nobody  to  go  with  us  ;  yet,  although  we 
never  used  our  pass,  we  always  had  it  reg- 
ularly renewed  in  order  to  give  them  as 
much  trouble  as  possible. 


184  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

In  the  meantime,  Captain  Buckingham 
told  us  that  he  had  been  informed  that  we 
had  been  carrying  on  a  clandestine  corres- 
pondence with  the  ''  Southern  Confed- 
eracy," and  was  known  to  have  sent  out 
*' large  bodies  of  clothing  through  the 
lines,"  which  was  emphatically  a  falsehood, 
as  we  had  no  money  at  the  time,  scarcely 
enough  with  which  to  purchase  a  calico 
dress.  We  willingly  confessed  to  the  will 
but  not  to  the  deed,  as  the  sole  aid  which 
we  had  recently  afforded  was  in  contribu- 
ting fifty  cents  in  greenbacks  to  purchase  a 
pair  of  woolen  hose  to  be  sent  in  a  box  to 
the  Rebel  prisoners  at  Camp  Chase. 

This  was  the  mountain  that  came  from 
the  mole-hill — this  the  information  that 
was  transmitted  to  Sherman  at  the  head 
of  his  tens  of  thousands  of  soldiers  in 
blue.  We  supposed  Sherman  to  have  been 
too  busy,  plundering  and  burning  and 
stealing  in  Georgia,  to  pay  any  more  at- 
tention to  what  was  going  on  back  here. 
At  any  rate,  we  never  heard  from  the  al- 
bum any  more,  although  we  were  sorry  to 
part  with  it  on  account  of  the  many  mem- 


CAPTAIN    BUCKINGHAM.  1 8$ 

ories  connected  with  it,  and  not  for  any  in- 
trinsic value. 

We  never  lacked  for  a  word  in  our  con- 
test with  Captain  Buckingham,  and  he  sat 
aghast  sometimes  when  he  discovered  he 
was  not  inspiring  us  with  much  fear. 
When  he  retired  from  the  contest,  if  he 
did  not  say,  "  Lay  on,  McDuff,"  he  mut- 
tered something  very  like  the  words  which 
follow  that  quotation. 

So  much  for  Buckingham. 

This  is  only  one  of  the  many  thousand 
petty  outrages  practiced  throughout  the 
South  upon  those  who  were  unable  to 
help  themselves,  and  were  afraid  some- 
times when  these  gentlemen  (?)  came  to 
search  their  personal  possessions  and  hear 
when  we  heard  from  our  Southern  friends. 

W^e  will  always  remember  a  remark 
made  by  a  little  girl  only  a  few  years  old, 
whose  papa's  house  had  been  searched 
from  one  end  to  the  other  by  the  Yan- 
kees, which  quiet  upset  the  family  and 
frightened  the  children  nearly  out  of  their 
senses,  who  saw  in  the  array  of  bayonets 
in  front  of  their  door  something  quite  ter- 
I* 


1 86  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

rible.     The  child  was  crying  bitterly  after 

the  soldiers  were  gone,  and  said  : 

*' O  mamma!     I  wish  we    all   were    in 

heaven !  " 

On  being  asked  why,  she  replied : 

'*  If  we  were  in  heaven  we  would  never 

see  any  more  Yankees.'* 


CITIZENS   ON   THE    FORTS.  1 8/ 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

CITIZENS  ON  THE  FORTS. 

There  is  one  thing  for  which  it  will  take 
two  more  generations  to  forgive  those  in 
authority  at  Murfreesboro  at  the  time  of 
which  we  write.  It  was  during  those  dark 
days  of  the  winter  of  1864,  when  a  cloud 
seemed  to  shut  out  the  sunshine  from 
everywhere — all  over  the  South.  Turn 
where  we  would,  we  saw  nothing  to  com- 
fort us  ;  not  one  ray  of  light  came  through 
the  darkness.  We  only  heard  the  whis- 
pering voice  of  despair  from  every  quar- 
ter. We  could  only  pray  and  hope  and 
try,  as  best  we  might,  to  send  words  of 
cheer  and  encouragement  to  our  Southern 
soldiers,  who  were  remaining  to  the  end. 
To  us  there  will  always  be  something  sub- 
lime in  the  conduct  of  those  men  who 
cheered  and  fought  in  the  dark  days  as 
well  as  in  the  bright — always  courageous. 


1 88  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

always  hoping,  yet  ready  to  forego  any 
privation,  to  endure  any  calamity,  no  mat- 
ter how  terrible,  for  the  success  of  the 
cause  for  which  they  were  enlisted. 

The  events  to  which  we  allude  hap- 
pened during  those  dark  months  of  the 
winter  of  1864,  when  the  Federal  author- 
ities, after  having  exhausted  themselves  in 
the  catalogue  of  their  atrocities,  bethought 
themselves  of  something  else  not  before 
thought  of.  They  decided  among  them 
that  they  would  protect  themselves  by 
placing  a  line  of  citizens,  old,  gray-haired 
gentlemen,  who  had  dared  in  the  face  of 
the  Federal  army  with  thousands  of  bay- 
onets, to  be  honest,  and  not  \.o  pretend  2.xv 
Unionism  which  every  one  knew  they  could 
not  feel. 

Well,  they,  the  officers  in  command, 
caused  to  be  arrested  and  placed  in  the 
fort  in  the  most  dangerous  places,  these 
gray-haired  gentlemen,  who  were  submit- 
ting to  every  privation  that  came  to  them, 
cheerfully  and  unrepiningly,  while  their 
sons  were  away  from  home,  and  dying 
everywhere. 


CITIZENS    ON    THE    FORTS.  1 89 

It  was  a  pitiable  sight  to  see  them  being 
marched  to  the  fortifications  in  spite  of 
expostulation  and  entreaties,  which,  with 
them,  never  amounted  to  anything  beyond 
their  getting  laughed  at  for  their  pains, 
and  placed  in  line  of  battle  with  the  Fed- 
eral soldiers.  Could  anything  more  dia- 
bolical be  imagined  ?  And  we  found 
ourselves  wondering  what  they  would  do 
next ;  for  it  seemed  to  us  they  had  done 
everything  mean  under  the  sun  that  men 
had  ever  been  guilty  of.  The  very  fiends 
themselves  could  not  have  contrived  any- 
thing more  cruel  than  the  idea  of  forcing 
citizens  to  fight  for  the  Union,  when  every 
sentiment  of  their  hearts  rebelled  at  the 
thought.  By  this  time  we  had  become  so 
accustomed  to  everything  terrible,  that 
scarcely  anything  excited  much  surprise. 
As  for  their  newspapers,  they  would  not 
tell  the  truth  when  they  knew  it. 

For  instance,  we  remember  one  quiet 
evening,  when  the  Yankee  army  occupied 
the  town,  to  have  been  startled  by  a  loud 
pistol-shot  down  the  street ;  and  when  we 
enquired  the  cause,   as  we  saw  a   crowd 


190  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

gathering  on  the  street,  it  became  known 
that  a  Yankee  cavalryman  was  riding 
leisurely  along  Main  Street,  and  amused 
himself  by  firing  into  a  crowd  of  little 
girls,  standing  on  a  pavement  in  front  of  a 
house.  The  shot  wounded  a  beautiful 
little  girl  severely  in  the  throat,  and  it  was 
a  long  time  before  she  recovered. 

Two  days  afterward,  the  Yankee  news- 
papers were  full  of  the  '*  Rebel  atrocities," 
and  among  other  things,  particular  men- 
tion was  made  of  this  incident,  and  an  ex- 
act description  was  given  of  the  entire 
affair,  with  this  important  omission.  The 
Northern  papers  stated  she  was  shot  by  a 
Confederate  cavalryman,  riding  through 
the  streets,  instead  of  Federal,  when  the 
Confederates  had  not  been  in  town  at  all 
— only  came  near  enough  to  burn  the 
bridges  in  the  vicinity,  and  the  command 
under  General  Jo.  Wheeler  passed  on 
and  made  their  unsuccessful  raid  on  Fort 
Donelson. 

We  took  upon  ourself  to  correct  the 
mistake,  and  asked  the  Louisville  Joimial, 
of  that  day,  in  the  name  of  truth  and  jus- 


CITIZENS   ON   THE    FORTS.  I9I 

tice,  to  correct  the  mistake  which  had  been 
made  In  their  columns ;  but,  true  to  the 
masters  whom  they  served,  they  permitted 
It  to  go  uncorrected.  The  officers  in 
command  in  Murfreesboro  also  let  the 
man  go  unpunished,  and  doubtless  re- 
garded It  as  a  good  joke. 

Not  long  afterward,  a  young  lady  was 
shot  and  wounded  from  the  public  turn- 
pike, standing  in  her  own  door  just  out 
of  town  on  the  Woodbury  road,  without 
any  possible  excuse,  as  everything  was 
quiet,  and  no  one  expecting  anything  of 
the  kind. 

And  still  the  people  had  to  submit,  be- 
ing powerless  to  help  themselves.  And 
the  usual  fate  of  those  who  complained  of 
the  outrages  at  head-quarters,  was  to  be 
sent  under  guard  to  drag  out  their  weary 
days  In  prison ;  and  in  those  last  years  of 
war,  to  have  been  in  ''jail "  was  something 
of  an  honor  Instead  of  its  having  been 
a  disgrace.  It  was  only  men  of  note  and 
influence,  whose  opinions  were  "danger- 
ous to  the  Government,"  that  were  incar- 
cerated   in    military    prisons    during  the 


192  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

reign  of  terror,  and  there  were  but  few 
men  of  standing  who  were  not,  at  some 
time  or  other,  arrested  during  the  war  for 
disloyalty,  and  made  to  pay  the  penalty  by 
imprisonment. 

Yet  these  people  who  came  among  us 
with  their  hands  stained  with  every  crime 
known  under  the  sun,  expected  us  to  fra- 
ternize with  them ;  and  when  the  war 
ended,  came  among  us  to  live,  and  were 
surprised  that  families  did  not  receive 
them  socially  around  their  fire-side  circle 
with  open  arms,  and  welcome  them  among 
us.  So  long  as  they  were  Union,  among 
those  of  congenial  spirits,  it  was  all  right ; 
but  what  right  have  they  among  us  ?  The 
very  men  who  fought  against  us,  and 
helped  to  bring  defeat  and  want  upon  the 
South,  are  here  among  us,  and  they  run 
for  office  and  get  elected  by  the  negroes, 
who,  in  their  blind  ignorance,  have  no 
better  sense  than  to  cling  to  the  frail  bark 
that  promises  to  see  them  safely  through. 

There  were  a  few  Union  men  here  who 
affiliated  with  the  Federals,  and  saved 
what  they  had,  and  added  more  to  their 


CITIZENS    ON    THE    FORTS.  1 93 

Stock  of  valuable  possessions — men  whose 
fences  were  7iot  burned,  nor  their  property 
molested — men  who  were  good  Rebels, 
and  whose  Union  sentiment  lay,  a  thing 
concealed,  in  the  first  year  of  the  war,  and 
until  they  saw,  or  thought  they  saw,  the 
beginning  of  the  end.  These  men,  who 
changed  so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
from  Sduthernism  to  Unionism,  and  went 
after  their  weak,  fickle  sons  in  prison,  who 
had  not  sense  enough  to  have  an  opinion 
of  their  own,  will  forever  bear  a  taint  on 
their  good  name.  Just  such  as  these  we 
have  to  thank  for  where  we  stand  to-day. 
Let  them  go  for  what  they  are  worth. 
Nobody  feels  an  atom  of  respect  for  them, 
and  they  have  no  influence  socially  any- 
where, save  that  which  they  command  in 
financial  circles  by  the  ring  of  the  solid 
metal,  purchased  at  the  sacrifice  of  that 
thing  which  7nen  hold  of  more  value  than 
life  itself:  i.  e,,  honor. 

We  left  our  old  friend  and  acquaintance 

in  the  beginning  of  our  story,  Major  Hart, 

with  his  elegant  plantation  in  the  hands  of 

his  friends,  the  Yankees.     We  believe  we 

J 


194  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

have  said  that  the  Major  was  beginning 
already  to  repent  of  his  Unionism,  seeing 
that  in  the  eyes  of  the  invaders  it  availed 
him  nothing — did  not  even  procure  for 
him  the  great  respect  and  deference  to 
which  he  had  always  been  accustomed. 
They  assumed  entire  control  of  his  mag- 
nificent plantation  with  the  air  of  those  to 
the  "manor  born,"  coolly  ordered  the  ser- 
vants to  open  the  wine  cellars  for  their 
gratification,  and  drank,  with  the  air  of 
connoisseurs,  the  rich,  mellow  wine,  which, 
when  opened,  filled  the  air  with  a  delicate 
perfume,  faint  and  fragrant.  They  poured 
the  great  silver  goblets,  which  stood  on 
the  side-board,  full  to  the  brim,  and  tossed 
it  down  with  evident  relish,  and  helped 
themselves  bountifully  from  the  well-filled 
silver  cake  baskets,  which  had  been  the 
especial  pride  of  the  Southern  housewife. 
Everybody  knows  how  delightful  it  was 
to  have  visited  in  well-appointed  Southern 
households,  in  her  palmy  days  previous  to 
the  desolating  foot-steps  of  the  war  that 
swept  away  her  gods  and  overturned  her 


CITIZENS   ON    THE    FORTS.  1 95 

household  altars.  Well  may  they  bemoan 
the  days  that  can  never  return,  when  they 
endure  the  discomforts  of  the  present 
style  of  house-keeping,  powerless  to  help 
themselves;  when  your  cook  goes  home 
at  night — nothing  can  tempt  her  to  sleep 
on  your  premises ;  oh,  no !  it  looks  too 
much  as  if  they  belonged  to  you — and, 
ten  to  one,  you  may  never  lay  eyes  on  her 
again.  Your  dining-room  servant  always 
hastens  away  in  the  evening  before  she 
has  half  attended  to  her  business,  so 
afraid  she  will  not  get  to  mingle  in  the 
uproar  that  goes  on  at  the  Church,  in  that 
revival  which  has  never  ceased  for  a  single 
night  since  the  trumpet  tones  of  the  de- 
parted Father  Abraham  proclaimed  from 
one  end  of  the  South  to  the  other,  free- 
dom to  the  down-trodden  slave !  The 
pious  groans  and  tears  of  these  liberated 
menials,  mingled  with  shouts  and  prayers, 
have  been  ascending  heavenward  nightly, 
without  intermission,  ever  since  they  first 
tasted  the  intoxicating  draught  of  freedom. 
You  drop  asleep  at  night,  and  awake  sud- 
denly by  hearing  a  dismal  wail  almost  un- 


196  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

der  your  window,  and  your  first  inpres- 
sion  is  that  somebody  is  being  murdered 
in  the  street ;  when  behold  !  the  groan  of 
despair  comes  from  some  repentant  sin- 
ner, tenderly  supported  in  the  arms  of  two 
sympathizing  friends,  returning  home 
somewhere  toward  the  *'wee  sma'  hours." 

Nothing  ever  hinders  these  pious  saints 
from  attending  *' church;"  neither  the 
rain,  nor  snow,  nor  driving  sleet ;  and  they 
certainly  deserve  for  an  epitaph  above 
their  graves,  when  the  time  comes  for 
them  to  be  gathered  to  the  home  of  their 
fathers,  "  Faithful  unto  the  end." 

In  the  good  old  days  that  are  gone  for- 
ever, when  a  visitor  arrived  in  a  Southern 
household,  it  was  generally  the  occasion 
for  great  rejoicing;  but  now,  when  they 
come  unexpectedly,  you  are  almost  sorry 
w^hen  you  remember  the  present  insuffi- 
cient system  of  domestic  service,  feeling 
your  impotence  to  help  yourselves. 

A  lady  acquaintance  was  laughingly  de- 
scribing a  dinner  party,  soon  after  the  war 
closed,  given  by  herself.  There  was  a 
goodly  sprinkle  of"  distinguished  guests" 


CITIZENS   ON    THE   FORTS.  1 97 

assembled  on  the  occasion,  and  everything 
had  passed  off  moderately  well,  consider- 
ing the  corps  of  dusky  attendants  were 
new  recruits,  until  the  cloth  had  been  re- 
moved for  dessert ;  whereupon,  one  of  the 
new  recruits,  in  her  laudable  desire  to  be 
of  service,  and  of  doing  something  to 
please  her  new  mistress,  snatched  up  a 
dish  of  cabbage,  and  invited  one  of  the 
distinguishedjudges  to  "  have  some  more," 
which  was  declined  amidst  the  general 
laugh  that  went  around  the  board,  and  to 
the  intense  mortification  of  the  elegant 
hostess,  who  had  no  other  alternative  but 
to  laugh  too,  and  make  the  best  of  the 
ridiculous  faux  pas. 


198  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

SOUTHERN     HOUSE-KEEPING    BEFORE     THE 
WAR. 

As  we  were  saying  in  the  previous 
chapter,  there  was  something  deHghtful  in 
visiting  in  a  well-regulated  Southern 
household  previous  to  the  war ;  but  alas  ! 
those  times  are,  unhappily  for  her  peo- 
ple, numbered  among  the  "things  that 
were  ;  "  and  a  remembrance  of  the  good 
old  times  only  renders  the  present  situa- 
tion more  intolerable.  Then,  when  you 
made  a  visit  from  home,  exquisitely  tidy, 
white  aproned  maids  met  you  at  the  door 
and  received  your  traveling  wraps,  smil- 
ingly ushering  you  to  your  room,  where 
they  carefully  dusted  your  things,  and 
placed  them  exactly  where  they  should  be  ; 
after  which  they  knelt,  unbidden,  and  un- 
strapped your  trunks  ;  and,  if  necessary  to 
speak  at  all,  spoke  in  a  low,  carefully  mod- 


SOUTHERN    HOUSE-KEEPING.  1 99 

ulated  voice,  which  betrayed  the  respect 
which  they  had  been  taught  from  their  in- 
fancy to  feel  for  their  superiors,  and  from 
which,  now,  alas  !  they  seem  to  have  de- 
parted forever,  owing  to  the  feelings 
which  they  have  imbibed  from  the  "blue 
bonnets  over  the  border."  And  then,  the 
great  bowls  of  sparkling,  perfumed  wa- 
ters ;  and  the  goodly  array  of  snowy, 
damask  towels,  and  all  the  elegant  appli- 
ances of  the  toilet ;  and  the  comfortable 
easy  chair  that  always  awaited  one  in  their 
own  room ;  and  the  detached  maid  who 
had  received  instructions  from  her  mis- 
tress, previous  to  your  arrival,  to  wait  on 
you  exclusively  during  the  length  of  your 
stay,  in  case  you  did  not  carry  your  ser- 
vant with  you. 

Now,  all  this  is  changed  ;  and  ''  madam," 
when  she  has  company,  is  compelled  to 
shut  her  eyes  to  a  great  many  of  the  de- 
linquencies of  servants,  or  she  will  be 
forced,  a  la  Yankee,  to  find  herself  with  a 
house  full  of  visitors,  in  the  midst  of  prep- 
arations for  an  elaborate  dinner  party, 
without    '*  help,"   should  the   lady   be    so 


200  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

unfortunate  as  to  attempt  anything  resem- 
bling a  state  dinner.  And  however  tempt- 
ing the  deHcacies  compounded  below  in 
the  culinary  department ;  however  elegant 
looking  the  elaborately  iced  "  white-cake  ;" 
the  beautifully  transparent  jellies ;  the 
exquisite  aroma  of  your  coffee  ;  the  snowy- 
biscuit,  and  ravishing  waffles  ;  the  firm, 
yellow  mould  of  your  butter,  which  comes 
iced  to  your  table;  when  you  remember 
it  requires  time  and  strength  and  labor 
with  which  to  prepare  all  these  things,  it 
detracts  considerably  from  the  enjoyment 
you  otherwise  would  have  felt  in  the  en- 
tertainment of  your  guests.  It  is  very  la- 
borious to  beat  the  cake  mixture  properly, 
and,  besides,  it  causes  one  to  become  very 
red  in  the  face,  which  is  anything  but  be- 
coming ;  and,  besides,  when  one  has  com- 
pany, one  likes  to  appear  as  charming  as 
possible,  provided  the  company  is  worth 
cultivating ;  and  to  come,  flushed  and 
heated  from  the  kitchen,  discomposed  in 
manner  and  discomposed  in  mind,  and  to 
sit  down  and  attempt  to  converse  indiffer- 
ently on  the  current  events  of  the  day,  is 


SOUTHERN    HOUSE-KEEPING.  201 

a  matter  which  would  bewilder  the  Napo- 
leonic ladies  of  our  day.  Besides,  sweep- 
ing trains,  which  some  ladies  imagine  add 
to  their  dignity  of  appearance,  and  frizzed 
coiffitres,  are  incompatible  with  the  labor 
of  necessity  to  be  performed  in  the  culin- 
ary department  ;  and,  in  our  opinion,  it 
requires  a  well-balanced  mind  to  perform 
her  own  domestic  labor,  and,  without  being 
flurried,  re-arrange  her  toilet  in  time  to 
present  herself  in  the  parlor  a  few  min- 
utes before  dinner  is  served. 

To  sit  composedly  and  see  your  ser- 
vants— these  dusky  satellites  for  which 
boon  of  freedom  a  million  lives  were 
wasted — pour  your  goblet  brimming  full 
of  water  until  it  runs  over  the  top,  and 
you,  in  sheer  desperation,  beg  them  to 
desist ;  when  they  spill  milk,  and  gravy, 
and  everything  else  in  the  world,  on  your 
handsomest  ''  unwash  "  dress,  with  a  reck- 
lessness which  proves  they  do  not  care, 
you  will  acknowledge  it  provoking  in  the 
extreme. 

Yet  Southern  ladies  try  to  make  the 
best  of  what   they    can    in   nowise    help, 


202  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

although  sometimes  they  find  themselves 
longing  for  the  ''good  old  time,"  as  did 
the  wandering"  Israelites  for  the  "flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt." 

We  have  not  over-drawn  the  picture  of 
domestic  troubles ;  and  many  of  our  ladies 
will  readily  recognize  the  sketch  as  painted 
from  life,  only  not  half  so  bad  as  the  re- 
ality, for  which  there  is  no  relief.  The 
perplexing  question  of  not  "What  will  he 
do  with  it?"  but  "what  shall  we  do?"  re- 
mains unanswered ;  and  from  the  present 
aspect  of  affairs,  we  are  likely  to  get  more 
entangled  every  day  in  "  confusion  worse 
confounded." 

Hear  what  the  Civil  Rights  Bill  has  to 
say.     It  reads  as  follows  : 

Section  i.  That  all  citizens,  and  other  persons  within 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  United  States,  shall  be  entitled  to  the 
full  and  equal  enjoyment  of  the  accommodations,  advan- 
tages, facilities  and  privileges  of  inns,  public  conveyances  on 
land  or  water,  theaters  and  other  places  of  amusement,  and 
also  of  common  schools  and  public  institutions  of  learning  or 
benevolence  supported  in  whole  or  part  by  general  taxation, 
and  of  cemeteries  so  supplied,  and  also  institutions  known  as 
industrial  colleges,  endowed  by  the  United  States,  subject  to 
the  conditions  and  limitations  established  by  law,  and  appli- 
cable alike  to  citizens  of  every  race  and  color,  regardless  of 
any  previous  condition  of  servitude. 


SOUTHERN    HOUSE-KEEPING.  203 

Section  2.  That  any  person  who  shall  violate  the  fore- 
going section  by  denying  to  any  person  entitled  to  its  ben- 
efits, except  for  reasons  by  law  applicable  to  citizens  of  every 
race  and  color,  and  regardless  of  any  previous  condition  of 
servitude,  the  full  enjoyment  of  any  accommodations,  ad- 
vantages, facilities  or  privileges  in  said  section  enumerated, 
or  inciting  such  denial,  shall,  for  every  offense,  forfeit  and 
pay  the  sum  of  five  hundred  dollars  to  the  person  aggrieved 
thereby,  to  be  recovered  in  action  on  the  case,  with  full 
costs;  and  shall  also  be  deemed  guilty  of  misdemeanor, 
and,  upon  conviction  thereof,  shall  be  fined  not  less  than 
one  thousand  dollars,  or  shall  be  imprisoned  not  more  than 
one  year,  provided  that  the  party  so  aggrieved  shall  not  re- 
cover more  than  one  penalty ;  and  if  the  offense  is  a  refusal 
of  burial,  the  penalty  may  be  recovered  by  the  heirs-at-law 
of  the  person  whose  body  has  been  refused  burial ;  and,  pro- 
vided further,  that  all  persons  may  elect  to  sue  for  the  pen- 
alty aforesaid,  or  to  proceed  under  their  rights  at  common 
law  and  the  State  statutes;  and,  having  so  elected  to  pro- 
ceed, in  the  one  mode  or  the  other,  their  right  to  proceed  in 
the  other  jurisdiction  shall  be  barred;  but  this  proviso  shall 
not  apjDly  to  criminal  proceedings  either  under  this  act  or 
the  criminal  law  of  the  State. 

Section  3.  That  the  District  and  Circuit  Courts  of  the 
United  States  shall  have,  exclusively  of  the  courts  of  the 
several  States,  cognizance  of  all  crimes  and  offenses  against, 
and  violations  of,  the  provisions  of  this  act,  and  actions  for 
penalty  given  by  the  preceding  section  may  be  prosecuted  in 
the  Territorial,  District,  or  Circuit  Courts  of  the  United 
States,  wherever  the  defendant  may  be  found,  without  re- 
gard to  the  party,  and  district  attorneys,  and  marshals,  and 
deputy  marshals  of  the  United  States,  and  commissioners  ap- 
pointed by  the  Circuit  and  Territorial  Courts  of  the  United 
States,  with  powers  of  arresting  and  imprisonment  and  bail- 
ing offenders  against  the  laws  of  the  United  States,  are 
hereby  specially   authorized    and    required    to  institute  pro- 


204  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

ceedings  against  every  person  who  shall  violate  the  provis- 
ions of  this  act,  and  cause  him  to  be  arrested  and  impris- 
oned or  bailed,  as  the  case  may  be,  for  trial  before  such 
court  of  the  United  States  or  Territorial  Court  as  by  law 
has  cognizance  of  the  offense,  except  in  respect  of  the  right  of 
action  occurring  to  the  person  aggrieved  ;  and  such  district 
attorneys  shall  cause  such  proceedings  to  be  prosecuted  to 
their  termination  as  in  other  cases,  provided  that  nothing 
contained  in  this  section  shall  be  construed  to  deny  or  defeat 
the  civil  action  accruing  to  any  person  by  reason  of  this  act 
or  otherwise. 

Section  4.  That  no  citizen,  providing  he  meet  all  the 
other  qualifications  which  are  or  may  be  prescribed  by  law, 
shall  be  disqualified  for  grand  or  petit  juror  in  any  court  of 
the  United  States  or  of  a  State  on  account  of  race,  color,  or 
any  previous  condition  of  servitude,  and  any  officer  or  other 
person,  charged  with  any  duty  in  the  selection  or  summon- 
ing of  jurors  who  shall  exclude  or  fail  to  summon  any  citi- 
zen for  the  cause  aforesaid,  shall  be  deemed  guilty  of  a  mis- 
demeanor, and  fined  not  more  than  one  thousand  dollars. 

Section  5.  That  all  cases  arising  under  the  provisions  of 
this  act  in  the  courts  of  the  United  States  shall  be  review- 
able by  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  without  re- 
gard to  the  sum  in  controversy,  under  the  same  provisions 
and  regulations  as  are  now  provided  by  law  for  the  review 
of  other  causes  in  said  court. 

Thus  this  bill  passed  the  Senate.  We 
have  copied  it  verbatim,  and  although  not 
very  lucidly  stated,  the  sum  and  substance 
of  it  all  may  be  summed  up  in  a  few 
words:  That  "cuffee,"  about  whom  the 
country  has  been  in  an  uproar  for  many 
years,  is  to  be  granted  equal  rights  and 


SOUTHERN    HOUSE-KEEPING.  205 

privileges  with  his  fairer  brethren;  he  is 
to  send  his  dusky  progeny  to  sit  side 
by  side  with  his  former  master's  children, 
and  thereby  grow  in  his  own  importance. 
"As  you  sow,  so  you  shall  reap;  "  and 
the  time  to  reap  the  whirlwind  has  come. 
Those  Union  men — those  renegades — 
scattered  over  the  South ;  those  who 
went  arm  in  arm,  one  in  sentiment  with 
the  invaders  of  our  homes  ;  who  opened 
their  doors,  and  gave  a  cordial  welcome  to 
our  enemies,  and  set  before  them  the  best 
they  had  in  the  way  of  entertainment ; 
and  who  played  the  spy  on  their  former 
neighbors,  like  the  cravens  that  they  were, 
and  who  took  especial  pains  to  inform 
their  blue-coated  friends  who  the  ''dan- 
gerous families"  were,  and  who  went  to 
the  Yankee  generals  in  command  during 
Hood's  raid  in  Tennessee,  and  said  to 
them,  "burn  that  man's  house,  or  his 
fence ;  he  is  a  violent  Rebel  ;  "  upon 
which  the  commanding  Yankee  general 
hastened  frantically  to  oblige  his  friend, 
and,  soon  afterwards,  a  column  of  dense 
smoke  would    be  seen   ascending  to  the 


206  GILBERT   ST.     MAURICE. 

sky,  from  which  burst  great  sheets  of 
flame,  scarcely  giving  the  inmates  of  the 
unfortunate  residence  time  to  collect  them 
a  change  of  wearing  apparel ;  now  these 
Union  men  helped  to  establish  the  gov- 
ernment which  is  trying  to  force  the  Civil 
Rights  Bill  upon  the  Southern  people. 
Now,  Union  men  of  the  South  !  we  ad- 
mire co7isistency ,  and  if  you  had  the  moral 
courage  to  turn  upon  your  former  friends 
and  aid  the  Yankees,  w^ho.  you  knew  at 
the  time,  were  fighting  to  set  the  negro 
upon  terms  of  social  equality  with  your 
own  families,  go  ahead,  and  be  consistent ! 
Don't  shirk  back  in  this  "  hour  which  tries 
men's  souls,"  but  be  true  to  your  colors. 
Set  them  the  example ;  open  your  pew 
doors  to  your  cook,  your  carriage-driver, 
your  dining-room  servant,  and  with  as 
affable  a  manner  as  you  can  command  for 
the  occasion,  say  to  them,  "  Walk  in  ;  have 
a  seat.  You  are  free-born  American  citi- 
zens as  well  as  ourselves,  and  have  as 
much  right  here  as  we  have." 

CJiac2tn  a  son  gout  /    We  fancy  it  would 
be  a  good  joke,  and  we  can  not  uossibly 


SOUTHERN    HOUSE-KEEPING.  20/ 

have  any  objections  to  see  Miss  Grant  or 
Miss  Sherman  or  Admiral  Dahlgren's 
daughter  being  whirled  in  the  ''mazes  of 
the  giddy  dance,"  a  la  white  silk,  point 
lace,  diamonds  and  all,  with  some  burly, 
black  African,  at  Cape  May,  Newport,  Sar- 
atoga, Long  Branch,  and  the  various 
other  popular  watering  places,  at  which 
the  beauty  and  fashion  of  the  North  con- 
gregate during  the  summer  season.  Why 
should  not  "  cuffee "  play  the  attendant 
cavalier  upon  those  young  ladies,  when 
they  remember  the  million  of  lives  wasted 
in  arriving  at  the  solution  of  the  vexing 
problem  of  the  social  equality  of  the  ne- 
gro, which  has  agitated  the  country  to  the 
disruption  of  the  "  Union,  as  it  was,"  so 
many  years  ago. 

Would  "  cuffee  "  feel  "  at  home  ?" — that 
is  the  question — dining  on  a  spiced  round 
of  beef  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  ? 
Would  he  always  be  able  to  read  the  bill 
of  fare  ?  Would  he  deport  himself  grace- 
fully in  the  presence  of  the  assembled 
elegants  that  frequent  the  fashionable 
hotels  of  the  North  ?     Would  he  not  spill 


208  GILBERT   ST.     MAURICE. 

his  champagne,  upset  his  plate,  and  com- 
mit a  thousand  other  misdemeanors,  un- 
worthy the  name  and  dignity  of  the 
colored  race,  which  the  ''  progressive 
party"  are  trying  so  hard  to  bring  into 
notoriety  ? 

Now,  as  we  were  saying,  we  have  no 
possible  objection  to  the  '*  social  equality  " 
being  confined  to  the  North ;  for,  as  we 
said  before,  that  would  be  consistent,  and 
we  and  everybody  admire  consistency.  It 
would  be  legitimate ;  but  as  for  ourselves, 
we  claim  the  ''inestimable  privilege"  of 
free-born  American  citizens,  and  rather- 
fancy  we  will  continue  in  our  old  way. 
When  that  is  established  throughout  the 
land  there  will  be  an  end  to  free  schools ; 
when,  instead  of  adding  to  the  prosperity 
of  a  community,  have  only  been  every- 
where a  disadvantage.  So  much  for  Civil 
Rights. 


TROOPS   AT    MAJOR  HART  S    JIOME.  2O9 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

YANKEE   TROOPS    CAMPING    ON    MAJOR    HART'S 
PLANTATION. 

We  left  our  old  friend,  Major  Hart,  in 

the  hands  of  his  Federal  friends,  and  as 
we  have  already  said,  the  Major  had  be- 
gun to  repent  him  of  his  Unionism  ;  but 
the  repentance  came  too  late.  His  resi- 
dence was  occupied  as  a  general's  head- 
quarters, it  being  the  most  convenient  and 
elegantly  furnished  house  accessible  at  the 
time  ;  and,  in  fact,  the  Yankees  by  this 
time  had  begun  to  be  fastidious  in  the 
choice  of  their  stopping  places,  and  had 
begun  to  love  luxury  and  ease  quite  as 
well  as  those  maligned  far-off  Southern- 
ers, whom  they  were  taking  to  such  severe 
task  for  their  indolence,  and  fighting  so 
hard  to  deprive  them  of  their  servants. 
It  was  a  strange  scene  for  old  South  Car- 
olina.    The  officers  and  soldiers  in  their 


2IO  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

national  uniform  of  blue,  lolling,  smoking, 
and  drinking  on  the  front  piazzas,  morning 
and  evening,  coming  and  going  at  pleas- 
ure. The  house  of  the  "bloated  aristo- 
crat," as  they  were  pleased  to  style  him, 
was  unceremoniously  turned  Into  a  scene 
of  feasting  and  revelry  ;  and  they  ca- 
roused far  into  the  night,  and  bestarred 
officers  strode  with  haughty  step  through 
the  long  double  parlors,  over  the  soft  car- 
pets that  gave  back  no  echo  to  the  firm 
footfall. 

There  was  one  portrait  in  the  parlor 
which  attracted  much  attention,  and  which 
many  officers  from  the  neighboring  camps 
came  and  stood  before  with  something  of 
surprise  and  curiosity  blended.  In  its 
heavy,  handsome  gilt  frame,  with  its  elab- 
orate mouldings,  it  occupied  the  center  of 
the  room,  reaching  from  the  low  marble 
mantle  nearly  to  the  ceiling.  It  was  the 
portrait  of  Gilbert  St.  Maurice,  painted  In 
Richmond  during  the  first  year  of  the  war, 
by  one  who  was  celebrated  in  his  profes- 
sion. He  was  superbly  handsome  in  his 
fighting    jacket    of  gray,    with    top-boots 


TROOPS   AT    MAJOR  HART  S    HOME.  2  I  I 

reaching  to  the  knee,  and  sword  buckled 
on  one  side,  while  in  his  right  hand  he 
held  his  plumed  cap,  while  standing  at  full 
length.  His  light  wavy  hair  was  brushed 
back  from  the  fair,  broad  brow,  and  in  his 
keen,  bright  blue  eye  there  was  an  unmis- 
takable look  of  defiance.  Next  to  her 
lover,  Marion  Hart  adored  this  portrait ; 
and  it  has  long  been  her  custom  to  bring 
a  daily  offering  of  fresh  flowers,  which, 
arranged  in  exquisite  wreaths,  she  had 
hung  on  the  projecting  edges'of  the  frame, 
honoring  her  dead  in  that  most  simple  and 
beautifully  touching  manner.  The  flowers 
were  all  withered  now,  and,  crumbling, 
had  fallen  on  the  floor.  Every  breath  of 
wind  that  came  through  the  open  win- 
dows blew  some  petal  of  the  faded  rose 
leaves  from  the  neglected  wreath  which 
spoke  of  the  undying  love  which  Marion 
Hart  felt  for  her  lover,  who  was  sleeping 
under  the  pine  trees,  unconscious  of  the 
ills  which  had  wrecked  his  Southern  home, 
and  of  the  sad,  dreary  thoughts  which 
rendered  the  life  of  Marion  Hart  a  weary 
burden. 


212  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

She  had  not  been  below  stairs  since 
her  father's  house  had  been  in  possession 
of  the  Federal  officers,  and  missed  her  ac- 
customed daily  visit  to  the  portrait.  The 
officers,  full  of  curiosity  when  they  first 
came,  had  questioned  the  servants,  and 
from  them  learned  it  was  the  portrait  of 
''  Miss  Marion's  dead  lover,"  killed  in 
Georgia,  and  one  of  the  "  handsomest 
men  in  the  State,"  supplemented  the  gar- 
rulous servants ;  and  then  they  fell  to 
questioning  the  talkative  maids  as  to  how 
"  Miss  Marion "  looked,  and  how  she 
dressed,  and  tried  hard  to  find  out  every- 
thing about  her,  since  they  were  denied 
the  privilege  of  meeting  her  in  person. 
Feeling  their  importance  in  being  appealed 
to,  they  told  the  curious  officers  everything 
they  could  think  of  connected  wnth  Ma- 
rion :  How  she  had  not  visited  for  such  a 
long,  long  time,  and  said  she  was  never 
known  to  smile,  and  ahvays  wore  black 
ever  since  her  lover  had  been  killed.  To 
all  of  which  the  Yankee  officers  listened 
with  appreciative  attention,  asking  them 
many    questions    relative    to   domestic  af- 


TROOPS  AT    MAJOR    HART's    HOME.  213 

fairs  ;  and  then  the  communicative  maids 
told  them  how  Gilbert  St.  Maurice's  mother 
raved  and  moaned  for  her  dead  son  ;  and 
there  was  something  of  awe  in  their 
voices  when  they  spoke — and  they  spoke 
in  a  subdued  whisper  while  making  these 
communications — how  her  screams  start- 
led the  sleeping  servants  from  their  quar- 
ters a  long  distance  from  the  house  ; 
''  there  never  was  anything  like  it,"  added 
they  in  a  low  voice.  Then  they  went  on 
to  tell  them  how  Miss  Marion  shut  herself 
up  in  her  room  for  weeks  at  a  time,  never 
seeing  anyone  but  the  servant  who  waited 
on  her  all  the  time  ;  and  how,  at  last,  late 
one  evening,  weeks  and  weeks  after  the 
battle,  she  came  down,  and  culled  and 
arranged  a  beautiful  wreath  of  flowers, 
and  placed  it  on  the  portrait.  And  then 
they  commented  on  how  long  and  fixedly 
she  had  regarded  the  portrait,  which  she 
had  not  seen  for  such  a  long  time  after 
the  news  of  his  death  had  reached  her 
ears.  The  communicative  maids  also  in- 
formed the  Federal  officers  that  Miss  Ma- 
rion   was    in    the    habit    of  coming    there 


214  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

every  morning  until  their  army  had  taken 
quarters  on  Major  Hart's  plantation,  and 
had  possession  of  the  house.  And,  more- 
over, they  told  that  Miss  Marion  declared 
she  never  would  come  down  as  long  as 
one  of  them  remained  on  the  place,  which 
made  some  of  them  very  angry,  while 
others  were  consumed  with  curiosity  to 
see  her,  and  invented  every  means  to  pro- 
cure their  ends,  which  signally  failed  in 
the  accomplishment  of  their  designs. 

The  servants  had  never  seen  a  Yankee 
before,  and  they  stupidly  gazed  at  them 
with  a  species  of  awe  mingled  with  as- 
tonishment ;  yet,  for  all  that,  they  waited 
on  them  with  fear  and  trembling,  glad,  no 
doubt,  in  their  inmost  hearts,  that  their 
deliverers  had  come  ;  but  just  then  they 
were  afraid  to  make  it  known  by  outward 
signs. 

Mrs.  Hart,  the  mistress  of  the  house- 
hold, was  submissively  polite,  and  had  her 
table  served  with  every  delicacy  that  could 
be  procured  at  the  time,  and  all  the  while, 
too,  with  her  accustomed  former  style  and 
grandeur.     She    had    at  her  command   a 


TROOPS    AT  MAJOR    HART  S    HOME.  2  I  5 

well-trained  corps  of  dinlng-room  ser- 
vants who  knew  just  exactly  where  and 
when  to  do  everything,  and  the  one  art  in 
which  they  particularly  excelled  was  in 
waiting  at  table.  The  Yankees  expressed 
their  astonishment,  and  seemed  impressed 
with  the  Southern  style  of  living.  There 
were  but  few  of  them  who  expected  to 
find  such  luxury  and  refinement  in  the 
style  of  their  living ;  and  one,  a  Yankee 
officer,  possibly  more  honest  in  his  out- 
spoken sentiments  than  the  rest  of  them, 
remarked  in  Mrs.  Hart's  presence,  that  he 
**did  not  in  the  least  blame  the  Southern 
people  for  fighting  for  their  slaves  and  their 
homes,  and  Southerners  certainly  under- 
stood to  perfection  the  art  of  training  ser- 
vants." The  officer  said  he  liked  it,  ''  and 
as  for  his  part,  he  would  as  soon  play 
quits  as  not  with  the  Yankees  and  turn 
Rebel  himself,  as  the  South  was  the  jol- 
liest  place  to  live  he  had  been  to  for  a 
long  while.  Moreover,"  quoth  the  honest 
Yankee,  "  I  like  the  people  who  are  not 
hypocrites,  and  who  do  not  hesitate  to 
avow  their  sentiments,  even  in  the  face  of 


2l6  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

our  tens  of  thousands  of  soldiers.  Some- 
how I  feel  an  innate  respect  for  them 
which  1  could  not  feel  for  those  who  pro- 
fess to  be  "Union,"  and  yet,  in  their  in- 
most hearts  they  despise  us." 

There  were  a  great  many  of  the  North- 
ern army  who  became  soldiers  through 
sheer  curiosity,  and  a  desire  to  travel  and 
become  familiar  with  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  South,  of  which  they  had 
gathered  the  most  preposterous  and  er- 
roneous ideas  from  the  exaggerated  stories 
of  Southern  cruelty  and  Southern  barbar- 
ity that  flooded  the  Northern  press.  And 
the  sentiments  of  many  of  them  under- 
went a  change  after  spending  some 
months  in  the  South,  and  seeing  for 
themselves.  ''  Seeing  is  believing,"  and 
we  have  often  heard  Yankees  acknowl- 
edge that  they  had  been  taught  to  believe, 
previous  to  their  coming  among  us,  that 
the  slaves  who  tilled  the  Southern  plan- 
ter's fields  were  always  driven  to  their 
daily  tasks  under  the  whip  and  lash  of  a 
merciless  overseer,  who  had  usually  no 
pity  whatever  for  the  unfortunate  beings  ; 


TkOOPS    AT  MAJOR    HARTS    HOME.  21/ 

and  that  the  Southern  negro  was  a  de- 
jected looking  being,  whose  looks  proved 
plainly  that  he  was  disgusted  with  that 
thing  which  men  call  life,  and  weary  of 
living.  So  much  for  hear-say ;  but  the 
reality  was  something  different,  as  they 
learned  afterward. 

A  faithful  maid,  who  had  slept  in  Ma- 
rion's bed-room  from  her  childhood, 
waited  on  her  during  the  period  of  her 
self-imposed  banishment.  The  maid  kept 
Marion  fully  informed  as  to  everything 
that  was  going  on  under  her  father's  roof, 
Marion  felt  no  desire  to  meet  any  of  them ; 
and  she  kept  thinking,  ever  and  anon,  of 
her  dead  lover,  in  his  grave  under  the  sol- 
emn, tender  light  of  the  stars,  and  also 
thought,  with  bitterness  of  heart,  that 
some  of  these  very  men  might  have  been 
the  ones  who  committed  the  deed.  Could 
she  meet  them  ? — the  roysters  down  stairs 
— who  bet  on  horseflesh  and  swore  loudly, 
in  the  presence  of  any  member  of  the 
family  ?  No ;  she  kept  her  word ;  and 
although  under  every  pretext  that  could 
possibly  be  imagined  they  endeavored  to 

K 


2l8  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

gain  a  peep  at  Miss  Hart,  they  were  never 
gratified.  The  commanding  general  asked 
many  times  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
Miss  Hart  in  the  parlor,  but  the  an- 
swer came  as  regularly  as  before^  that 
''  Miss  Hart  was  not  well,  and  desired  to 
be  excused." 

Thus  the  message  was  conveyed  in  the 
least  offensive  form ;  but  they  were  not 
the  words  of  Marion  to  her  father,  who  in 
cowardice  came  to  his  daughter's  room  in 
person,  insisted  on  her  going  down  to  see 
the  officers  in  order  to  conciliate  them  as 
much  as  possible,  and  to  cause  them  to  be 
less  harsh  in  their  treatment  of  him.  You 
see,  he  was  reaping  the  '*  whirlwind." 
Marion  bade  her  father  to  say  to  these 
Yankee  officers  that  she  hated  them,  and 
it  was  impossible  to  think  of  coming 
among  them  to  entertain  them  with  music 
and  song,  as  they  particularly  requested 
she  would ;  that  the  very  air  they  breathed 
would  stifle  her ;  that  she  had  no  desire  to 
meet  any  of  them,  stained  as  their  hands 
were  with  every  foul  crime  that  men  could 
be  guilty  of. 


TROOPS   AT  MAJOR    HARTS    HOME.  2I9 

They  were  consumed  with  curiosity  to 
see  the  haughty  Southern  girl  who  staid 
all  the  time  up-stairs,  and  never  showed 
her  face  all  the  time  the  army  remained 
on  the  premises.  And  they  indulged  in 
many  a  coarse  jest  at  her  expense,  which 
were  reported  to  her  above  stairs  until 
she  felt  like  rising  and  confronting  the  en- 
tire Yankee  army,  and  pouring  out  the  in- 
tense scorn  and  bitterness  she  felt  for 
them  to  their  very  faces. 

A  great  many  of  the  officers  brought 
their  wives  with  them,  and  it  was  amusing 
to  see  the  airs  they  tried  to  put  on  before 
these  Southern  people  :  only  they  did  not 
know  how  to  go  about  it.  They  expressed 
their  astonishment  freely  at  the  superior- 
ity of  style  indulged  in  by  these  Southern 
people.  They  had  not  expected  to  see 
anything  of  the  kind,  so  they  affirmed  in 
the  presence  of  several  members  of  the 
family.  One  might  possibly  have  imag- 
ined, to  have  heard  these  ladies  (?)  talk, 
that  they  belonged  to  the  upper  sb^ata 
of  Northern  society,  only  one  would  have 
been  most  egregiously  mistaken.     Noth- 


220  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

ing  of  the  kind.  That  flattering  unction 
could  not  have,  with  any  propriety,  been 
laid  to  their  charge.  It  may  be  an  insult 
to  the  whole  Yankee  nation ;  but  the  elite 
of  Northern  society  was  not  in  the  army, 
save  a  few  West  Point  officers ;  and,  of 
course,  the  wives  and  daughters  of  those 
who  came  among  us  belonged  to  the 
de77ii  monde. 

In  proof  of  the  foregoing  statement, 
think,  if  you  please,  of  the  pianos,  china, 
glassware,  books,  pictures,  and  carpets 
that  these  precious  people  who  came 
South  by  virtue  of  sole  power,  packed  up 
and  shipped  to  their  Northern  homes. 
How  many  families  throughout  the  South 
had  vast  quantities  of  handsome  silver- 
ware, precious  heirlooms  in  families,  taken 
from  them,  not  under  cover  of  darkness, 
but  in  broad,  open  day-time,  and  packed 
before  their  own  eyes,  and  sent  to  their 
families  in  the  North,  by  officers  of  the 
United  States  army  who  professed  to  be 
fighting  for  the  Union  !  Union,  indeed ! 
These  valorous  defenders  even  went  so 
far  as  to  rob  ladies'  wardrobes  of  valuable 


TROOPS   AT  MAJOR    HARTS    HOME.  221 

silk  dresses,  velvet  cloaks,  and  handsome 
jewelry,  and  send  them  home  to  their 
wives  and  daughters.  This,  as  many 
others  can  testify,  is  no  idle  rumor,  but  a 
stubborn,  indisputable  fact. 

But  why  should  we  be  astonished,  when 
we  remember  that  these  people  who  came 
among  us  were  servants  at  home,  who, 
having  unbridled  license  to  act  as  they 
pleased,  helped  themselves  to  whatever 
suited  their  fancy.  The  really  educated, 
refined  portion  of  Northern  people  could 
ill  afford  to  risk  their  precious  bodies 
where  the  bullets  fell  thickest,  and  so  they 
staid  ''  at  home,"  and  purchased  them  sub- 
stitutes. The  North  could  well  afford  to 
lose  some  of  the  thousands  of  foreigners 
who  swarmed  our  shores.  How  very 
laughable  it  was  to  hear  some  of  these 
Dutch- Yankees  repeat  their  stereotyped 
cant  about  the  ''old  flag,"  when  a  yard  of 
checked  cotton  would  have  had  about  as 
much  meaning  for  them,  so  far  as  the 
sentiment  was  concerned.  And  the  nasal 
twang  with  which  some  of  them  pro- 
nounced the  name  of  ''John  Morgan  "  was 


222  GILBERT   ST.    MAURICE. 

inimitable.  The  North  needed  thinning 
out,  and  the  dead  were  scarcely  missed  at 
all.  The  Yankee  generals  cared  but  little 
for  the  lives  of  the  common  soldiery. 
They  knew  the  gaps  could  be  readily  sup- 
plied the  moment  they  were  wanted ;  so 
they  determined  to  crush  the  South  by 
brute  force,  as  they  were  penetrating 
enough  to  perceive  that  it  could  be  done 
in  no  other  way.  Remember  how  Grant 
massed  his  thousands  in  front  of  the  stub- 
born Lee,  and  rushed  them  headlong  into 
the  very  jaws  of  death  !  The  Yankee  army 
might,  with  propriety,  be  compared  to  lo- 
custs ;  you  might  destroy  an  army  of  them, 
and  they  came  twice  as  many  as  before. 
Just  such  men  as  these  the  ''blue  blood" 
of  the  South  were  contending  against. 
You  might  kill  a  Yankee,  and  lo  !  straight- 
way there  arose  five  men  in  his  place  of 
like  ilk. 


YANKEE    CUPIDITY.  223 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

A    YANKEE    CITIZEN     COMES    SOUTH    FOR     THE 
BODY     OF     HIS     BROTHER,     AND     CARRIES 
HOME     HIS     REMAINS     IN     A     TRAVEL- 
ING    VALISE. 

Some  of  those  who  remained  at  home 
in  the  North  during  the  war  were  cer- 
tainly good  financiers,  as  the  following 
incident  goes  to  prove. 

A  young  man  came  South  after  the  war 
closed  for  the  body  of  his  brother,  who 
went  to  his  reward  at  the  battle  of  Stone's 
River,  and  was  buried  in  the  Yankee  cem- 
etery out  there.  So,  armed  cap  a  pie  with 
pickaxes  and  spades,  he  dug  for  the  coffin, 
which,  when  reached,  was  found  to  have 
decayed,  and  in  its  place  was  only  a  small 
heap  of  bones.  Inasmuch  as  this  devoted 
brother  collected  and  arranged  according 
to  fancy,  and  packed  in  his  traveling  valise 
the  bones  of  his  defunct  Yankee  brother, 
and   sorrowfully  wended   his  way  North- 


224  GILBERT    ST,     MAURICE. 

ward  where  he  said  he  could  purchase  a 
coffin  after  he  got  there,  and  it  would  come 
''much  cheaper  than  to  travel  with  a 
coffin." 

It  seems  a  pity  to  have  disturbed  him 
in  his  last  resting  place,  where  he  died 
fighting  for  the  "  old  flag  "  and  the  eman- 
cipation of  the  negro  ;  to  have  disturbed 
him  in  his  dreamless  slumber,  where  his 
bones  reposed  in  hallowed  peace,  in  close 
proximity  to  the  spot  where,  in  ''Lang 
Syne,"  he  gathered  blackberries,  and 
made  the  welkin  ring  with  such  patriotic 
songs  as  "  Rally  round  the  flag,"  and — 

''We  will  drive  the  traitor  host 
From  the  land  we  love  the  most, 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom  !  " 

Rest  in  peace  in  thy  dreamless  bed, 
O  valorous  defender  of  a  nation's  in- 
sulted standard !  and  may  the  memory  of 
your  virtues  console  those  whom  you  left 
behind  for  your  loss  ! 

How  they  hated  the  Southern  people 
for  not  having  been  accustomed  to  work 
as  their  wives  and  daughters !  and  some 


YANKEE    CUPIDITY.  22$ 

of  them  had  the  impertinence  to  inform 
us  that  when  the  war  was  over,  and  the 
"colored  people"  set  free — that  is  the 
expression  that  came  so  glibly  from  their 
lips — that  we  would  be  compelled,  a  la 
Yankee^  to  wash,  and  bake,  and  brew,  and 
then  we  would  not  be  ''any  better  "  than 
themselves.  '^. 

In  speaking  of  the  lower  classes  of  so- 
ciety filling  the  armies  of  the  North,  we 
will  state  here  for  the  benefit  of  all  whom 
it  may  concern,  that  the  Union  sentiment 
of  the  South  was  confined  to  the  illiterate 
and  unrefined  in  nearly  every  town  and 
city  in  the  South.  Many  of  the  Yankee 
officers,  holding  high  positions,  acknowl- 
edged this  fact  with  regret.  Who  can 
deny  this  ?  They  were  told  that  the  peo- 
ple had  been  forced  to  be  Rebels,  and 
they  only  waited  the  advent  of  the  Union 
army  to  rise  by  the  thousand  and  flock  to 
the  "  old  flag."  But  no  cheers  greeted 
them  when  they  took  possession  of  the 
conquered  strongholds,  and  they  were  met 
by  people  with  scowling  brows  and  averted 
faces,  who  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  the 


226  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

scorn  and  hatred  they  felt  for  the  Invaders 
of  their  homes. 

We  have  thought  sometimes  it  may 
have  been  well  for  the  South  that  she  did 
not  gain  her  independence,  for  there  is  a 
weakness  on  the  part  of  Southerners  to 
regard  labor  as  disassociated  with  refined, 
genteel  cultivation  which  is  probably  the 
result  of  education.  In  former  years,  men 
of  wealth  and  social  distinction  sent  their 
sons  to  college,  and  they  usually  remained 
there  long  enough  to  receive  a  diploma 
from  the  law  department  or  return  home 
with  an  M.  D.  attached  to  their  names, 
with  but  an  indistinct  idea  of  ever  prac- 
ticing their  profession,  unless,  perchance, 
their  patrimonial  slice  of  the  estate  was 
swallowed  up  to  pay  somebody's  '*  security 
debt,"  and  then  they  had  a  profession  to 
"fall  back  on;"  and,  moreover,  in  those 
days  it  was  considered  ''genteel,"  as  the 
phrase  went,  ''to  have  a  profession." 
Young  gentlemen  in  those  days,  the 
sons  of  wealthy  fathers,  were  attended 
by  a  body-servant,  a  valet  de  chambre,  who 
waited  on  them   assiduously,  caught  and 


YANKEE    CUPIDITY.  22/ 

saddled  their  horses,  and  was  always 
ready,  at  a  moment's  warning,  to  execute 
any  commands  which  they  saw  fit  to  give 
them.  They  brought  them  the  morning 
papers  while  they  lingered  at  the  break- 
fast table,  and  stood  ready  to  pick  up  their 
paper  or  handkerchief  should  they  be  so 
indiscreet  as  to  drop  those  articles. 

Young  misses  tripped  along  gaily  to 
school  attended  by  white-turbaned,  white- 
aproned  servants,  who  relieved  them  of 
their  books  and  satchels  and  brought  them 
warm  dinners  on  cold  winter  days.  In 
the  afternoon,  should  it  have  rained,  and 
the  streets  wet  and  muddy,  a  host  of  re- 
tainers in  waiting  thronged  the  school- 
room doors  with  shawls,  umbrellas,  and 
over-shoes,  while  at  the  gate,  enthroned  in 
state  in  their  seats,  sat  many  a  dusky 
coachman,  waiting  for  the  petted  darlings 
of  parents  who  would  not  permit  their 
children's  feet  to  come  in  contact  with  the 
muddy,  dripping  pavements.  Thus  it  was 
in  the  good  old  times  that  will  never  come 
back.  Have  we  not  drawn  a  life-like  pic- 
ture of  the  past  ? 


228  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

After  all,  it  is  pleasant  to  think  how  we 
lived  then,  and  with  what  native  couraee 

o 

we  accepted  the  issue  ;  yet  it  will  take  two 
more  generations  to  eradicate  the  bitter 
feelings  and  prejudices  generated  in  our 
minds  by  the  result  of  the  war. 

After  all,  self-reliance  is  the  best  school 
in  which  to  develop  one's  latent  talents, 
and  we  best  appreciate  that  object  or  re- 
sult most  difficult  of  attainment.  There  is 
a  feeling  of  independence  very  agreeable 
to  contemplate,  when  you  remember  you 
are  the  architect  of  your  own  fortune. 
There  is  also  a  necessity  which  knows  no 
law ;  and  Southern  people  now  put  forth 
their  individual  efforts  without  the  risk  of 
losing  caste  in  the  circles  in  which  they  move. 
There  is  an  adage  that  the  '*  end  justifies 
the  means,"  which  may  be  true  in  this  in- 
stance, only  we  do  not  like  the  channel 
through  which  the  result  was  reached  ;  and 
it  is  a  matter  of  impossibility  to  entertain 
any  kindly  feeling  for  those  who  accom- 
plished their  ends  through  such  a  diabolical 
mode  of  procedure.  However,  let  it  pass. 
Time,  perhaps,  may  eradicate  the  feeling. 


YANKEE    CUPIDITY.  229 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CURIOUS     DEATH-BED     SCENE     OF     A     YANKEE 
SOLDIER. 

'*  Christ  !  how  the  winds  rave,  and  the 
waters  roar !  Don't  you  see  that  bloody 
hand  there  on  the  wall  ?  Take  it  away  ! 
Hide  it  from  my  sight !  O  God,  my  pun- 
ishment is  greater  than  I  can  bear  !  How 
that  man's  eyes  stare  at  me  with  a  vacant, 
meaningless  glare !  O  my  mother,  pity 
your  boy !  I  can  never,  never  forget!" 

And  the  sick  man's  voice  rose  in  a  de- 
spairing wail,  and  he  covered  his  head 
with  the  coverlet  on  the  bed,  as  if  he 
would  shut  out  some  horrid  phantasma- 
goria. 

Dr.  Jenkins,  a  surgeon  of  the  United 
States  army,  arose  from  where  he  was 
reading  by  the  soft  light  of  an  astral 
lamp,  and  turned  the  light  a  little  lower, 


230  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

and  came  and  adjusted  the  pillows  under 
the  sick  soldier's  head. 

''  My  poor  fellow  !"  said  the  Doctor, 
''  you  are  suffering  intensely,  there  is  no 
doubt,  but  your  physical  suffering  is  not  to 
be  compared  with  your  mental  torture  at 
this  time." 

Dr.  Jenkins  spoke  in  a  subdued  under- 
tone in  an  aside  to  the  lady  in  whose 
mansion  this  tragic  death-bed  scene  was 
about  to  be  enacted.  There  was  no 
storm — the  earth  lay  bathed  in  the  soft, 
mellow  light  of  a  full  September  moon, 
and  the  '' bloody  hand  "  that  the  disor- 
dered imagination  of  the  sick  soldier, 
whose  cheeks  were  flushed  to  crimson 
with  a  consuming  fever,  had  fancied  ^was 
creeping  along  the  wall,  was  onlv  a  moon- 
beam that  came  through  the  boughs  of  the 
magnolia  which  over-shadowed  the  win- 
dow, and  touched  the  wall  with  a  finger  of 
light.  From  the  far-off  corner  in  the  spa- 
cious grounds  which  surrounded  the  man- 
sion, some  one  was  playing  a  melancholy 
strain  on  a  flute,  which  added  to  the  lone- 
liness   of  the    hour,    when  we    remember 


A    DEATH-BED   SCENE.  23 1 

that  the  hands  of  the  watch  which  lay  open 
on  the  small  table  by  the  bed-side  pointed 
to  the  hour  of  one  o'clock. 

The  room  which  had  been  assigned  to 
the  sick  soldier  wearing  the  blue  of  the 
Federal  army  was  exquisitely  clean  and 
refreshing  to  look  at,  as  the  weather  was 
intensely  warm.  A  soft  September  breeze 
lifted  the  freshest  of  white  muslin  curtains, 
and  fanned  the  sick  man's  fevered  brow. 
The  floor  was  covered  with  clean,  cool 
matting,  and  everything  connected  with 
the  bed  was  snowy  and  fresh  enough  to 
please  the  most  fastidious  taste.  Yet  it 
was  a  couch  of  thorns  to  the  sick  man,  for 
remorse  was  doing  its  work,  and  gnawing 
his  soul,  which  caused  him  in  his  delirium 
to  rave  and  curse  in  despair,  and  lament 
the  day  that  he  was  ever  born. 

The  lady  of  the  mansion,  who  with  her 
benign  expression  looked  like  an  angel  of 
mercy,  as  arrayed  in  a  spotless  robe  of 
white  she  arose  and  stood  by  the  sick 
man's  bed-side,  and  wetting  a  napkin  in  a 
basin  of  ice-water  carefully  laid  it  on  the 
soldier's    burning   face.     Her   heart    was 


232  GILBERT   ST.    IVIAURICE. 

touched  with  sympathy  when  she  wit- 
nessed the  torture  which  racked  this  sol- 
dier, both  physically  and  mentally,  as  he 
stood  on  the  brink  of  eternity  ;  for  it  was 
very  evident  that  his  hours  here  were 
numbered. 

Dr.  Jenkins  prepared  an  opiate  which, 
after  he  had  taken,  he  placed  a  goblet  of 
iced  water  to  his  lips,  which  he  drank 
eagerly,  and  then  fell  into  a  deep  slumber 
which  lasted  for  more  than  an  hour.  The 
doctor  felt  his  pulse,  and,  after  counting 
the  beats,  remarked  that  he  could  not  last 
much  longer :  he  thought  scarcely  until 
daylight ;  and  said  to  the  lady  : 

"Madam,  you  look  curious,  and  no 
doubt  think,  from  this  sick  man's  ravings, 
that  under  it  all  lies  some  deeper  mean- 
ing, some  hidden  tragedy  which  you  are 
not  acquainted  with.  You  have  been  ex- 
cessively kind  to  this  suffering  wreck  of 
humanity,  which  touches  the  secret  chords 
of  human  sympathy  in  spite  of  ourselves. 
This  mxan,  whose  soul  will  soon  stand  in  the 
presence  of  his  God,  has  committed  one 
of  the  foulest  crimes  which  a  man  could 


A    DEATH-BED    SCENE.  233 

be  guilty  of.  You  know  that  our  army 
has  been  guilty  of  deeds  which  would 
shock  the  most  hardened  criminal  ;  yet 
only  to  you  who  have  shown  so  much  of 
the  milk  of  human  kindness  when  not  ex- 
pected of  you,  I  will  explain  in  good  time 
what  you  may  regard  as  a  curious  phase 
of  his  suffering. 

"  This  man,  James  Caldwell,  has  been 
but  recently  transferred  to  the  division  in 
which  I  am  acting  surgeon.  He  is  from 
the  same  place  as  myself — a  small  town  in 
northern  Ohio.  His  mother  is  a  widow 
lady,  and  has  only  this  one  son,  and  in 
very  moderate  circumstances  ;  yet  never 
was  a  mother  who  tried  harder  to  bring 
up  her  boy  in  the  right  way." 

Dr.  Jenkins  paused  in  his  narrative  and 
turned  toward  the  bed.  The  sick  man 
moaned  and  turned  uneasily  on  his  pillow, 
and  murmured — 

'*  I  see  it  there  again  !  Why  don't  you, 
in  mercy,  take  it  away  ?  I  can't  bear  to 
look  at  it  !  the  sight  will  kill  me!" 

The  lady  was  listening  intently,  but 
glanced  uneasily  toward  the  dying  soldier, 


234  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

for  the  surgeon  had  just  informed  her  he 
had  but  Httle  longer  to  live.  She  feh  a 
thrill  of  fear  when  she  heard  the  sick 
man's  ravings  commence  again,  louder 
and  more  frequent.  Calling  a  young  man 
who  lay  on  a  cot  just  outside  the  door  in 
the  hall,  a  brother  soldier,  the  surgeon 
directed  him  to  sit  by  his  bed-side,  and, 
if  necessary,  to  hold  him  if  he  grew  un- 
manageable. 

A  long,  low,  almost  unearthly  howl, 
which  had  something  in  it  of  human  de- 
spair, startled  the  watchers,  under  the 
very  window  near  which  they  were  sitting. 
It  was  Brutus,  great,  shaggy,  black  Brutus, 
who  had  broken  his  chains  and  placed 
himself  under  the  dying  man's  window, 
from  whence  it  was  impossible  to  dislodge 
him  ;  and  his  howls  came  at  regular  inter- 
vals, only  more  frequent.  It  might  well 
have  been  compared  to  the  wail  of  some 
everlastingly  lost  soul  ascending  from  the 
horrors  of  the  burning,  bottomless  pit. 

And  placing  madam  a  chair  in  the  cool 
hall,  the  surgeon  enquired  if  she  was  not 
weary  and  would  like  to  retire.     The  lady 


A    DEATH-BED    SCENE.  235 

replied  that  after  hearing  what  she  had 
she  could  not  sleep  if  she  were  to  retire, 
so  she  preferred  to  sit  up  and  hear  the 
conclusion  of  the  story  ;  and,  moreover, 
she  might  possibly  be  of  service  in  the 
sick  man's  room. 

''And,"  she  added,  "  Doctor,  I  have  a 
son,  a  noble,  handsome,  darling  boy  in  the 
Southern  army ;  and  but  for  the  mercy  of 
God  this  might  be  my  own  child,  lying 
suffering  among  strangers,  far  away  from 
home,  and  uncared  for.  You  will  readily 
understand  my  sympathy  with  that  poor 
sufferer  yonder.  And  besides,  I  confess 
to  some  curiosity  to  hear  the  conclusion  of 
the  story  which  you  were  interrupted  in 
by  his  frequent  ravings." 

The  surgeon  resumed  his  story : 
"This  James  Caldwell  has  been  con- 
nected with  one  of  the  most  blood-thirsty 
villains  in  Missouri  that  ever  wore  the 
Federal  uniform,  whose  list  of  atrocities 
would  blanch  your  cheeks  and  sicken  you 
were  I  to  enter  in  its  horrible  details. 
Enough,  to  say,  this  man  Caldwell  com- 
mitted a  crime — a  deadly  crime — and  our 


236  GILBERT    ST.     MAURICE. 

authorities  permitted  him  to  go  unpun- 
ished. ]Madam,  I  do  not,  can  not  blame 
you  Southern  people  for  hating  us  and 
shutting  your  doors  upon  us.  I  do  not 
wonder  at  It  at  all.  I  think  In  many  In- 
stances we  deserve  it. 

"This  Caldwell,  In  company  with  sev- 
eral others  of  the  same  command,  went 
out  one  night,  In  Missouri,  near  the  town 
of  St.  Joseph,  and  set  fire  to  a  man's 
house,  the  man  being  one  of  the  promi- 
nent men  In  the  State,  and  an  influential 
Rebel  citizen.  Among  them  they  mur- 
dered the  whole  family,  and  this  man 
Caldwell,  after  shooting  the  man,  chopped 
off  his  hands  with  an  axe.  But  his  re- 
morse Is  hurrying  him  to  his  grave.  It  is 
not  the  first  time  he  has  been  sick,  and 
he  always  In  his  delirium  raves  of  the 
*  bloody  hand,'  and  begs  to  have  the  man 
taken  out  of  his  sight. 

"  There, Madam,  is  the  whole  story  about 
which  I  can  not  wonder  that  you  looked 
curious.  I  would  not  have  entered  so 
largely  into  the  details  of  this  horrible 
atrocity,  only  you  have  been  so  unexpect- 


A    DEATH-BED    SCENE.  237 

edly  kind  that  I  think  this  explanation  is 
due  to  you." 

Madam  was  shocked,  as  well  she  might 
be,  for  the  sick  man's  screams  grew  louder 
and  more  frequent,  until  the  whole  house- 
hold was  startled  from  their  slumbers  and 
came  to  enquire  the  cause.  The  surgeon 
and  madam  returned  to  the  sick  man's 
room ;  but  the  doctor,  the  minute  his  eyes 
rested  upon  him,  pronounced  him  dying. 
He  turned  his  wild,  blood-shot  eyes  blaz- 
ing with  fever  full  upon  the  lady,  and, 
thinking  it  was  his  mother,  implored  her 
to  kneel  there  and  pray  for  him.  And 
madam,  casting  aside  the  disgust  which 
had  possessed  her  after  re-entering  the 
bed-chamber,  knelt  and  prayed  aloud  for 
the  soul  of  him  who  was  passing  from 
earth. 

A  soft  September  breeze  was  blowing 
and  scattering  the  fading  leaves  from  trees, 
and  the  white,  wan  moonlight  was  every 
minute  growing  more  indistinct.  In  an- 
other five  minutes  a  fearful  storm  had 
broken  over  the  earth.  But  far  above  the 
hoarse  mutterings  of  thunder  was  heard 


238  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

the  remorseful  screams  of  the  dvinor  sol- 
dier,  whose  crime,  that  had  blackened  his 
life,  was  following  him  down  into  the  very 
gates  of  eternity.  Another  despairing 
wail,  one  long  gasp,  while  was  heard  the 
death-rattle  in  the  throat,  and  the  soul  of 
James  Caldwell  went  to  answer  for  his 
crime  before  his  Maker. 


THE   END.  239 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  END. 

We  might  write  on  forever,  and  the 
half  would  scarcely  be  told  ;  but  the  dark 
days  of  the  winter  of  1864  are  upon  us, 
when  General  Hood  made  his  unsuccess- 
ful raid  on  Middle  Tennessee.  We  had 
hoped  up  to  that  time — had  hoped  against 
hope — but  when  that  failed,  and  our  friends 
once  more  were  driven  from  Tennessee, 
we  began  to  confess  within  ourselves  there 
seemed  but  a  meagre  chance  for  success. 
Where  we  lived,  it  was  a  perfect  reign  of 
terror,  and  the  Federal  authorities  ex- 
hausted themselves  in  the  catalogue  of 
their  atrocities,  just  as  they  did  when  Ros- 
encranz  took  possession  of  Murfreesboro, 
after  the  evacuation  by  Bragg.  We  were 
not  there,  but  heard  every  day  of  some- 
thing new  in  the  way  of  atrocities.     Every 


240  GILBERT    ST.    MAURICE. 

night  for  weeks  after  the  advent  of  the 
army,  you  might  look  out  every  window 
in  your  house  and  see  a  burning  dwelHng, 
while  the  Yankees  shouted  and  played 
their  bands.  This  is  an  indisputable  fact ; 
and  moreover,  the  burning  never  ceased 
until  General  Bragg,  who  occupied  the 
town  of  Shelbyville,  Tennessee,  and  which 
was  full  of  Union  people,  sent  a  messen- 
ger to  General  Rosencranz,  if  he  did  not 
stop  burning  houses  in  the  vicinity  of 
Murfreesboro,  he  would  burn  up  Shelby- 
ville ;  and  not  until  then  did  Rosencranz 
make  any  effort  to  stop  it. 

One  morning,  during  Hood's  raid  in 
Tennessee,  we  were  startled  to  hear,  it 
seemed  all  at  one  time,  about  twenty  axes 
strike  our  fence.  The  snow  covered  the 
ground,  and  was  hard  frozen,  and  it  was 
intensely  cold.  We  looked  out  the  win- 
dow, and  the  Yankees  had  fallen  to  work 
to  dispossess  us  of  our  high,  thick,  plank 
fence  which  shut  in  one  side  of  our  lot ; 
but  they  never  stopped  until  they  had 
gone  the  entire  rounds  of  the  premises, 
and  hauled  away  our  fence  in  wagons  to 


THE    END.  241 

assist  Father  Abraham's  soldiers  to  cook 
some  chickens  they  had  stolen  from  the 
citizens.  A  gentleman  who  was  in  the 
house  went  out  and  remonstrated  with 
the  captain,  for  which  he  was  told  if  he 
said  a  word,  he  would  tear  down  the 
house,  which  these  valiant  warriors  were 
quite  capable  of  doing  ;  for  we  had  seen 
them,  not  long  before,  pull  down  the  Pres- 
byterian church  to  burn,  and  many  times 
they  burned  the  graveyard  fence,  which 
was  sanctioned  and  approved  by  those  in 
command.  What  were  they  not  capable 
of  doing  ?  They  were  taught  in  a  school 
which  held  it  no  crime  to  appropriate 
whatever  suited  the  fancy  of  these  sol- 
diers— ^tq  burn  the  houses,  and  murder  at 
will  innocent  women  and  children,  and  to 
•drive  them  out  into  the  pitiless  rain  and 
sleet,  in  the  dead  hours  of  night.  Still, 
those  who  have  come  among  us  to  live 
seem  astonished  that  people  do  not  read- 
ily affiliate  with  them,  and  receive  them 
socially  into  the  sanctity  of  their  own 
home  circles. 

Our  old  friend  Major  Hart  was  quite 
I. 


242  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 

cured  of  his  Unionism,  and  was  more  bit- 
ter, finally,  in  his  sentiments  than  anybody 
in  the  neighborhood.  The  old  gentleman 
was  quite  subdued,  so  to  speak,  and  he 
presented  a  melancholy  appearance ;  he 
had  scarcely  the  courage  to  raise  his  eyes 
to  the  chance  passer-by,  and  you  would 
hardly  have  recognized  the  pompous 
planter  in  the  bowed,  dejected  form  that 
always  met  you  after  the  advent  of  Sher- 
man's army.  His  Unionism  had  been  a 
sad  failure.  When  troubles  beset  him  on 
every  side,  he  began  to  appreciate  the 
love  and  sympathy  of  the  devoted  wife 
whose  married  life  had  been  made  so  un- 
happy from  the  beginning  until  the  pres- 
ent time  by  his  unnecessary  hardness  and 
cruelty.  He  was  sorry,  too,  but  when  it 
was  too  late,  of  the  blight  he  had  cast 
upon  the  life  of  his  daughter  Marion,  and 
he  hesitated  not  to  confess  the  fact  to 
her.  He  longed  for  the  return  of  his  son 
Victor,  that  he  might  tell  him  how  sorry 
he  was  of  the  cruel  words  he  had  said  to 
him  at  parting.  Thus,  how  often  does  re- 
pentance come  too  late. 


THE   END.  243 

However,  the  end  was  drawing  near. 
The  Southern  sky  was  black.  Through 
the  murky  gloom  we  could  see  no  ray 
of  sunlight,  and  on  every  side  was  heard 
only  the  voice  of  despair.  Smiles  in  those 
days  came  but  seldom.  Who  could  smile 
when  everything  was  on  the  verge  of 
ruin  ?  The  Yankees  swarmed  in  every 
prominent  city  of  the  South.  Charleston, 
the  old  aristocratic  city  of  the  Palmetto 
State,  was  trodden  by  men  wearing  the 
national  uniform  of  blue.  Richmond,  too, 
the  capital  of  the  Confederacy  had  fallen, 
and  the  thunder  of  General  Lee's  guns 
was  silent  forever.  Yes,  the  gallant  old 
army  of  the  South  had  fought  their  last 
battle,  and  now  they  were  returning  home, 
ragged  and  soiled,  with  two  dollars  and  a 
half  in  gold  in  their  pockets,  with  all  lost 
but  honor.  And  very  many  of  them  had 
no  homes  to  come  to,  while  all  their  pos- 
sessions had  been  scattered  to  the  four 
winds  of  heaven. 

The  fair,  effeminate  face  of  Verner 
Gray  was  bronzed  by  continual  exposure, 
while   a   ruddy  flush  dyed  his  cheek,  al- 


244  GILBERT   ST.   MAURICE. 

though  his  Step  was  as  proud  and  buoyant 
as  in  the  days  when  he  first  went  to  Vir- 
ginia. Verner  came  home  with  the  loss 
of  an  arm,  a  reminder  of  the  bloody  battle 
of  Gettysburg. 

Victor  Hart  lived  through  it  all ;  and 
one  quiet  morning  in  Richmond  not  long 
after  the  surrender,  there  was  a  marriage 
in  the  upper  circles  of  Richmond  society. 
The  bride  was  very  handsome,  yet  quite 
simply  attired  in  a  dress  of  white  French 
muslin,  while  her  only  ornament  in  her 
hair  was  an  exquisite  cluster  of  rosebuds. 
Victor  Hart  looked  supremely  contented 
and  happy,  and  had  the  pleasure  to  carry 
home  with  him  his  handsome  bride,  to 
whom  he  had  b$en  tenderly  attached  for 
several  years  ;  and  verily  was  she  blessed 
among  women  who  had  the  pleasure  of 
calling  Victor  Hart  husband. 

Will  Houghton  was  killed  at  Fredericks- 
burg, while  Will  Stanhope  came  back  to 
old  South  Carolina  with  the  loss  of  a  leg. 


In    the    deep    pine    woods   of   Georgia 


THE    END.  245 

there  is  a  lonely  grave,  above  which  the 
midnight  moon  gleams  with  ghostly  radi- 
ance. Every  spring-time  there  comes  a 
woman,  clad  in  sable,  trailing  garments, 
and,  above  the  grave  of  the  dead  hero, 
lays  a  wreath  of  wild  flowers  and  immor- 
telles. The  marble  slab  bears  the  simple 
inscription : 

Lt.  Gilbert  St.  Maurice  ; 
Aged  26. 


THE  END. 


Brenda  Merton, 


The  old  country  farm-house — how  pleas- 
ant it  was  in  the  mellow  light  of  summer ! 
Substantially  built  of  brick  that  had  stood 
the  storms  of  many  winters ;  with  its  wide, 
cool  halls,  and  shady  verandas  that  wooed 
one  to  repose  when  the  blazing  heat  of  a 
summer  sun  crackled  and  parched  the 
grounds  and  fields  around.  It  was  the 
home  where  I  first  saw  the  light  of  day ; 
and  well  and  tenderly  do  I  love  every 
stone  and  shrub  connected  with  it.  Even 
the  old  apple  tree  with  its  great  wealth  of 
crimson  and  white  blossoms  that  stood 
under  my  window — 1  can  inhale  their  fra- 
grance even  now.  The  robins  came  every 
spring-time,  and  built  their  nests  in  it,  and 
awoke  me  from  my  slumbers  every  morn- 
ing with  a  musical  reveille ;  and  it  seemed 
every  rainy  morning  they  sang  louder 
than  ever ;  or,  perhaps  it  was  because  the 


248  BRENDA    MERTOIV 

lulling,  musical  sound  of  the  ''misty 
drops"  wooed  me  to  longer  repose  on  my 
downy  pillow,  that  their  loud  twittering 
disturbed  me  ;  and  then  I  would  lie,  dream- 
ily watching  them,  w^here  the  great,  green 
branches  over-shadowed  my  window,  as 
they  hopped  from  limb  to  limb,  and  shook 
the  glittering  rain-drops  from  their  plu- 
mage. 

Dear  old  tree,  and  birds,  and  all,  I  love 
you  even  now ! 

Aw^ay  to  the  right  of  the  old  house,  you 
could  see  the  brook  that  ran  leaping  and 
sparkling  over  the  white,  pebbled  bottom 
all  the  year  round,  and  the  graceful  wil- 
lows that  fringed  its  banks :  it  never  dried 
up  even  in  the  hottest  months  of  summer, 
but  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  its  way,  on- 
ward, somewhere  to  empty  its  sparkling 
waters  into  some  other  tributary. 

Verily,  my  father's  home  was  the  abode 
of  peace  and  plenty,  in  my  happy  child- 
hood. Nowhere  was  the  butter  as  yellow 
as  that  which  was  brought  ice-cold  from 
the  old  spring-house ;  nowhere  the  cream 
as  rich  and   thick  as  that  which  came  in 


BRENDA    MERTON.  249 

the  antique  shaped  silver  cream  pitcher 
daily  on  my  mother's  table ;  and  such  de- 
licious cakes ;  and  the  pickles,  and  cat- 
sups, and  other  comestibles  that  all  good 
house-wives  used  long  ago  to  pride  them- 
selves on ;  for  my  mother  was  considered 
the  finest  house-keeper  in  the  State,  and 
well  she  deserved  the  name.  Our  ice- 
house afforded  us  a  bountiful  supply  all 
the  summer  through,  and  none  can  so  well 
appreciate  the  luxury  as  those  who  have 
been  accustomed  to  it. 

My  mother's  table-cloths  and  napkins 
were  always  the  freshest,  with  never  a 
soiled  spot  on  them,  her  knives  polished 
to  the  brightness  of  silver,  and  her  china 
and  glassware  shone  with  the  luster  that 
soap  and  water  and  a  clean  linen  towel  al- 
ways gave  them. 

The  old  antique  china,  so  transparent 
that  you  could  see  the  light  that  came 
through  it  with  a  pale,  delicate,  rosy  glow, 
had  been  an  heirloom  in  the  family,  and 
my  mother  prided  herself  so  much  on 
them  that  at  the  close  of  each  meal,  she 
seated  herself  at   the  table  with  a  huge 


250  BRENDA    MERTON. 

white  apron  covering  and  protecting  the 
whole  front  part  of  her  dress,  and  with  a 
small  basin  of  water,  washed  and  wiped 
every  piece  of  them  with  her  own  delicate 
hands,  and  returned  them  to  their  own 
proper  place,  not  daring  to  trust  them  in  a 
servant's  hands. 

Our  garden  always  yielded  the  finest  of 
strawberries,  and  when  they  were  gath- 
ered early  in  the  morning,  with  the  dew 
fresh  upon  them,  and  piled  in  great,  crim- 
son, luscious  heaps,  plentifully  frosted  with 
snow  in  the  way  of  loaf  sugar,  and  in  the 
old-fashioned  cut-glass  bowl  in  the  center 
of  the  dininor  table,  flanked  on  either  side 
by  a  plate  of  cake  and  pitcher  of  cream, 
while  conspicuous  was  the  elaborately  car- 
ven  silver  cake  knife,  that  table  was  in- 
deed a  goodly  sight  to  behold.  x\t  least, 
so  thought  our  summer  visitors,  who  be- 
gan to  fill  our  rooms  from  the  time  that 
the  dust  beean  to  thicken  on  their  window 
sills  in  their  city  homes,  until  the  Septem- 
ber winds  began  to  blow  with  a  chilliness 
that  reminded  them  that  winter  was  once 
more  coming. 


BRENDA    MERTON.  25  I 

The  old  mahogany  dining  table,  dark 
and  rich  with  age,  I  can  see  my  mother 
standing  there  now,  arrayed  in  her  deli- 
cate white  dress,  with  lace  drapery  around 
the  throat  and  sleeves — my  mother  always 
wore  white  in  summer ;  indeed,  no  other 
color  would  have  suited  her  half  so  well. 
How  beautiful  she  was  in  the  days  of  my 
childhood,  with  her  brown  hair  brushed 
in  shining  waves  from  the  fair  high  fore- 
head, in  a  heavy,  graceful  coil,  and  her 
dress  always  faultlessly  neat,  and  her 
house  alwavs  exquisitely  kept.  She  was 
the  most  fastidious  person  I  have  ever 
seen  in  my  life.  There  was  an  air  of  re- 
finement about  her  that  bespoke  the  finest 
culture  and  highest  order  of  intellect ;  but 
it  never  contaminated  her  to  come  in  con- 
tact with  persons  of  less  culture  and  edu.- 
cation;  she  soared  far  above  them,  and 
looked  from  the  heights  of  her  purity  and 
superiority  with  a  species  of  contempt 
never  outwardly  manifested. 

My  father  was  a  farmer,  well  born  and 
educated,  much  given  to  reading  and 
study,  yet  never  failing  in  superintending 


252  BRENDA    MERTON. 

his  well-Stocked  and  well-kept  farm,  which 
always  yielded  a  bountiful  harvest  for  his 
pains.  He  adored  my  mother,  and  never 
entered  into  any  important  speculation  with- 
out deferring  to  her.  Their  devotion  to 
each  other  was  beautiful  to  behold.  They 
were  perfectly  congenial  to  each  other, 
and  time  had  only  strengthened  the  bond 
of  union  between  them,  instead  of  re- 
lapsing into  indifference,  as  many  others 
do  after  having  out-lived  the  first  glamour 
of  the  romance  of  marriage.  I  have  even 
seen  his  eyes  follow  her  with  a  look  of  in- 
describable tenderness  in  them,  as  she 
went  noiselessly  on  her  round  of  duties, 
arranging  with  her  tasteful  hand,  and  put- 
ting in  order  everything  that  happened  to 
get  out  of  place ;  for  my  father  was  as 
fastidious  as  a  woman,  and  my  mother  had 
always  encouraged  it  in  him,  as,  indeed, 
she  did  in  her  children,  having  taught 
them  purposely  and  intentionally  to  be  so. 
It  was  a  rule  of  hers,  and  every  mother 
would  do  well  to  observe  it,  never  to  let 
anything  displeasing  to  the  senses  come 
before  our  eyes ;    yet  she  bore  with  the 


BRENDA    MERTON.  253 

waywardness  of  her  children  with  pa- 
tience ;  and  by  example  never  failed  to 
conduct  them  back  in  their  right  way  of 
living  and  acting. 

Our  family  consisted  of  my  father, 
mother,  and  four  children :  one  of  the 
children  being  the  daughter  of  an  acquain- 
tance of  my  mother  who  had  married  less 
fortunately  than  herself,  and  chose  on  her 
death-bed  to  send  for  my  mother,  and  im- 
plore her  by  the  memory  of  their  former 
companionship,  to  save  her  infant  daughter 
from  being  cast  upon  public  charity.  She 
said  she  could  die  in  peace  if  she  knew 
her  little  daughter  would  be  received  in 
the  family  of  my  father  and  mother,  whose 
open-handed  generosity  was  known  far 
and  wide. 

My  mother  never  did  anything  without 
consulting  my  father,  so  she  went  directly 
home  after  Mrs.  Merton  had  made  the  re- 
quest of  her  to  take  her  daughter,  and 
called  my  father  from  where  he  was  read- 
ing on  the  shaded  west  end  of  the  piazza. 
I  remember  the  afternoon  perfectly  well, 
and  I  think  it  was  a  volume  of  Bulwer  he 


254  BRENDA    MERTON. 

left  in  the  rocking-chair  as  he  arose  with 
alacrity  to  obey  the  summons.  Why 
should  I  not  remember  it,  when  it  marked 
an  epoch  in  our  lives,  and  was  destined 
afterward  to  exert  such  a  powerful  influ- 
ence on  my  young  sister's  after-life,  and 
shadow  her  happiness  in  the  years  to 
come  ?  I  was  young  at  the  time,  but  I 
remember  everything  as  clearly  and  dis- 
tinctly as  if  it  had  been  yesterday ;  my 
father  sitting  on  the  shaded  piazza,  read- 
ing quietly,  yet  ever  and  anon  looking  up 
to  where  my  sister  and  myself  were  play- 
ing on  the  green  plat  of  smoothly  shaven 
grass,  and  bestowing  upon  us  the  looks  of 
the  deepest  love  and  tenderness  and  sym- 
pathy in  our  childish  sports,  for  my  little 
sister — bless  her  blue  eyes  and  golden 
hair !, — was  only  a  little  over  four  years  oi 
age,  and  as  blithe  and  winsome  a  little 
creature  as  could  be  found  anywhere. 

Every  feature  of  that  afternoon  is  clearly 
daguerreotyped  on  my  memory.  The  blue 
sky  above ;  the  tall  trees  swaying  in  the 
wind ;  the  sunlight  in  dancing  shadows ; 
the   swallows  flitting    hither  and   thither ; 


BRENDA    MERTON.  255 

the  tinkling  of  the  cowbells  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  even  the  neighing  of  the  horses  in 
the  meadow  pasture ;  and  my  sister  and 
myself  playing  so  happily  on  the  grass, 
when  the  sound  of  the  gate,  as  it  swung  to 
on  its  hinges,  caused  us  to  look  around, 
and  my  mother  came  up  the  graveled 
walk,  dressed  in  a  filmy  white  lawn,  as  she 
always  was  in  summer,  with  a  rose  glow 
in  her  cheeks  caused  by  the  long  walk 
and  excitement,  and  her  face  beam- 
ing under  her  white  straw  hat,  with  its 
broad,  lavender  ribbons,  which  harmonized 
so  admirably  with  the  delicately  fair 
complexion.  Even  the  faithful,  honest 
maid  Hannah  came  with  the  empty 
basket,  with  the  folded  napkin  lying 
loosely  in  the  bottom,  where  she  had 
been  to  carry  some  dainty,  prepared  by 
her  own  hands  for  her  sick  friend ;  while 
the  great,  black,  shaggy  dog,  oddly  named 
Nemesis  by  some  chance  visitor,  came 
bounding  and  barking  up  the  walk.  I  see 
them  all  now,  and  see  my  father  go  with 
my  mother  into  her  own  room  and  re- 
main there  for  a  little  time  ;  and  then  my 


256  BRENDA    MERTON. 

happy  little  sister's  doom  and  misery  was 
sealed  for  years  to  come.  Very  soon  they 
came  out  from  their  conference,  he  with 
his  arm  around  my  mother's  waist ;  and 
Hannah  brought  low,  cane-seat  rockers  to 
the  front  veranda,  and  we  all  sat  down,  so 
happy  and  quiet  and  contented,  and  my 
mother  took  my  little  sister,  and  smoothed 
her  disordered  curls,  and  retied  the  wide 
blue  sash,  and,  after  kissing  her  several 
times,  told  her  she  was  soon  to  have  an- 
other playmate,  but  a  little  older  than  her- 
self. 

The  blue  eyes  of  the  child  looked  up 
questioningly,  and  lisped  in  the  pretty  ac- 
cents of  childhood,  "Where  is  the  pretty 
little  girl  to  come  from?"  and  my  mother 
told  her  that  the  litte  girl's  mamma  was 
dying,  poor  little  thing !  that  if  some  kind 
lady  did  not  take  her,  she  would  have  to 
be  carried  to  the  poor-house ;  that  she 
had  no  pretty  clothes,  and  no  dainty  em- 
broidery on  her  skirts,  as  my  little  sister 
had.  But  as  for  the  poor-house,  the  child 
had  no  conception  of  that,  and  pray  God 
she  never  may ! 


BRENDA    MERTON.  2$/ 

The  sun  sank  behind  the  clouds  whose 
edges  were  tipped  with  silver,  and  a  low 
wind  stirred  the  leaves  of  the  graceful  as- 
pen trees  with  a  low,  tremulous  sigh.  Was 
it  a  sigh  for  the  blighted  life  of  the  un- 
conscious child  that  nestled  so  lovingly  in 
its  mother's  arms?  for  the  long  months  of 
keen  agony  that  found  no  voice  ? 

The  tea  bell  rang — for  in  those  summer 
days  v/e  had  tea  early,  in  fact,  before  the 
daylight  faded — and  we  all  rose  and  went 
out  to  supper,  dismissing  the  thought  of 
the  new  inmate  from  our  minds  until  the 
time  should  arrive  for  her  to  come  to  our 
house,  which  was  not  to  happen  until  the 
mother  should  die;  for  she  had  begged 
that  her  little  daughter  might  remain  with 
her  for  the  brief  period  she  had  to  live. 

Consumption  soon  finishes  its  work ;  and 
the  poor  woman  died,  one  hand  clasping 
my  mother's,  whom  she  blessed  with 
latest  breath  for  having  promised  to  take 
care  of  her  child,  and  the  other  holding 
the  hand  of  her  little  girl,  who  gazed  with 
looks  of  bewilderment  in  the  great,  blazing, 
black  eyes  on   the   scene    that   she  could 


258  BRENDA    MERTON, 

SO  little  comprehend.  The  woman's  re- 
mains were  decently  put  away,  and  the 
child,  Brenda  Merton,  was  led  bitterly 
crying  from  her  mother's  grave  in  the  old 
country  church-yard,  and  brought  and  ad- 
mitted, not  as  a  penniless  dependent  on 
my  father's  charity  or  made  to  feel  the 
sting,  but  to  equal  rights  and  privileges  o^ 
my  father's  more  favored  children. 

The  child,  the  little  Brenda,  was  tall 
for  her  age,  and  slight,  with  bold, 
black  eyes  that  seemed  to  look  you 
through,  and  a  great  mass  of  waving^ 
curling,  black  hair  that  was  allowed  to 
flow  unconfined  on  her  shoulders.  Even 
at  the  infantile  age  she  was  then,  she  gave 
promise  of  great  beauty  and  character  ; 
and  a  defiant  look  flashed  from  her  eyes 
that  told  one  plainly  she  could  be  a  small 
fury  if  opposed  in  her  will.  She  was 
plainly  and  commonly  dressed  in  a  striped 
purple  print,  with  very  much  worn  shoes 
and  stockings,  and  a  small  gingham  sun- 
bonnet  of  a  scant  pattern,  probably  the 
^est  that  the  poor,  unfortunate,  dead  wo- 


BRENDA   MERTON.  259 

man  could  procure  for  her  only  child,  but 
which  was  not  henceforth  to  satisfy  the 
craving  ambition  of  the  aspiring  orphan. 

Implanted  within  her  were  the  seeds  of 
an  evil  disease,  an  inordinate  love  of 
gaudy  plumage,  and  a  hankering  after  the 
''purple  and  fine  linen,"  and  the  seats  of 
those  who  sit  in  high  places,  which  in  after 
years  was  to  exert  so  powerful  an  influence 
on  her  own  character  and  those  with 
whom  she  was  to  be  associated. 

That  first  evening  of  her  coming  to  our 
happy  home  I  remember  but  too  distinctly. 
It  was  the  day  of  the  funeral,  for  both  my 
father  and  mother  had  gone  to  attend  it, 
leaving  my  little  sister,  Bertha,  and  myself 
at  home  under  the  care  of  the  faithful 
Hannah.  We  knew  where  they  had  gone, 
for  they  had  told  us  we  might  expect  the 
little  girl  to  come  home  with  them ;  so  we 
often  left  our  play  and  ran  to  look  down 
the  avenue  that  led  to  the  public  road, 
scattering  boxes  and  paper  men  and 
women  with  their  little  families  pell-mell 
in  utter  confusion  on  the  sitting-room 
floor,  which  dear,  good  Hannah,  with  not  a 


260  BRENDA    MERTON. 

• 

touch  of  impatience  in  her  even  voice  when 
she  spoke  to  us,  would  stoop  quietly  and 
restore  them  to  their  proper  places.  How 
faithfully  she  performed  her  duty  to  my 
mother's  children,  year  in  and  year  out — 
not  an  eye-servant  as  many  of  them  are. 

At  last  the  sound  of  carriage  wheels 
caused  an  overthrow  of  the  block  houses 
I  was  building  and  trying  to  amuse  my 
sister  with,  and  we  ran  hastily  down  the 
steps  to  the  gate  to  meet  our  parents,  with 
myself  nearly  consumed  with  curiosity  to 
see  the  child  who  was  coming  to  be  a  play- 
mate for  us  ;  and  even  at  that  moment  I 
can  remember  feeling  a  repugnance, 
amounting  almost  to  aversion,  to  the 
child  the  moment  my  eyes  beheld  her. 
Somehow  I  felt  disappointed ;  she  was  not 
what  I  expected,  yet  I  do  not  know  that  I 
had  a  right  to  feel  that  way,  not  having 
had  a  description  of  her — at  least,  not 
particularly.  I  was  not  prepared  to  see 
anyone  so  plainly  dressed — remember,  I 
had  only  known  poverty  in  the  abstract, 
not  in  reality — as  this  poor  child  who  had 
just  seen  all  she  had   on  earth  laid  under 


BRENDA  MERTON.  26 I 

the  ground.  To  me,  accustomed  to  the 
refinements  of  Hfe  and  elegance  of  attire 
— for  it  was  one  of  the  whims  of  extrava- 
gances of  my  mother  to  see  that  her  two 
daughters  were  beautifully  dressed  ;  there- 
fore, to  me  this  child  seemed  common- 
place and  coarse,  and  looked  out  of  place 
when  she  came  among  us,  except  the 
crimson  lips,  and  masses  of  wavy  hair,  and 
bright  black  eyes.  I  acknowledge  that  al- 
though she  came  from  her  mother's  grave 
orphaned  and  penniless,  demanding  my 
love  and  sympathy,  that  I  was  not  in  the 
least  attracted  towards  her ;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  felt  an  aversion  for  which  I  could 
not  account,  and  which  seemed  unreason- 
able, and  I  tried  to  conceal  it,  for  my 
mother's  sake,  when  I  remembered  it  was 
through  her  instrumentality  that  she  came 
among  us. 

And  while  all  these  thoughts  were  pass- 
ing through  my  mind  with  the  rapid- 
ity of  lightning,  and  duty  and  aversion 
were  struggling  together,  we  reached  the 
house.  My  father  kindly  took  the  wee, 
brown  hands  of  the  child,  and  introduced 


262  BRENDA  MERTON. 

her  to  myself  and  sister,  and  said  to 
me  : 

"  My  daughter,  I  commend  this  mother- 
less little  girl  to  your  especial  care  and 
protection.  She  is  all  alone  in  the  world 
with  no  one  to  care  for  her  or  love  her  ; 
see  that  she  is  always  treated  kindly,  and 
try,  yourself,  to  amuse  her ;  for  had  it  not 
been  for  the  kindness  of  your  mothers's 
heart,  her  future  might  be  dreary  enough," 
looking  far  in  the  distance  as  he  spoke. 

I  answered  him  that  I  would  do  all  I 
could  to  make  her  life  happy  and  con- 
tented among  us.  And  I  answered  him 
truly  ;  for  in  that  moment  I  resolved  to 
conquer  the  aversion  that  rose  in  my 
heart  for  her,  and  to  be  true  to  my  trust 
and  be  kind  and  gentle  to  the  orphan 
child,  and  try  to  make  her  feel  at  home 
among  us. 

The  child  scanned  me  with  her  bold, 
bright  eyes  that  never  flinched  when 
strangers  spoke  to  her,  with  a  curious 
look,  and  at  last  her  restless,  roving 
glances  lighted  on  my  little  sister ;  she 
took  a  step  forward,  with  her  greedy  eyes 


BRENDA  MERTON.  263 

fastened  on  a  golden  necklace  around  the 
child's  white  throat,  and  made  a  motion 
to  snatch  it  off,  saying,  in  impatient,  pet- 
ulant tones  : 

''  I  want  that  pretty  thing !  It  is  gold, 
and  I  will  have  it,"  stamping  her  feet  all 
the  while. 

My  father  only  smiled  in  amusement, 
and  thought : 

"Poor  little  thing!  I  reckon  it  does  look 
pretty  to  her;  she  has  been  so  dwarfed 
and  cramped  in  her  pleasures  all  her  life." 

But  a  swift  shadow  passed  over  my 
mother's  face,  as  with  a  single  motion  of 
the  arm  she  restrained  her ;  at  which  the 
child  desisted  with  a  sullen,  willful  face. 

Ah,  if  that  mother  could  only  have 
shielded  her  dear  little  daughter  from  all 
the  harm  that  this  young  orphan  child  was 
to  bring  upon  her  in  after  years ! 

Reader,  are  you  not  a  believer  in  blood  ? 
And  will  not  impure,  tainted  blood  show 
itself  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation  ? 
And  is  it  not  born  in  children  to  be  good 
or  bad  ?  Granted  all  this ;  yet,  neverthe- 
less, moral  culture  helps  to  eradicate  much 


264  BRENDA  MERTON. 

of  the  bad  that  is  transmitted  to  children 
through  their  parents. 

The  mother  of  this  child  had  been  of 
gentle  birth,  and  brought  up  In  refined 
circles  of  society,  or  she  had  not  been  my 
mother's  friend  ;  but  being  of  a  passion- 
ate, self-willed  nature,  she  had,  when  only 
sixteen  years  of  age,  fallen  in  love  with  a 
handsome  young  scape-grace,  and  ran 
away  from  a  boarding  school  with  him  and 
married.  They  lived  together  a  good 
many  years  in  a  kind  of  "hand-to-mouth" 
way  :  the  man  was  too  indolent  and  worth- 
less to  remain  long  at  any  given  employ- 
ment, and  when  he  earned  a  few  dollars 
he  immediately  found  means  to  spend 
them. 

The  wife  helped  to  eke  out  a  scanty 
subsistence  with  her  needle,  at  which  she 
had  never  been  very  expert  in  her  life. 
Of  the  several  children  that  came  to  them, 
not  one  of  them  had  lived  but  the  little 
Brenda ;  and  perhaps  it  were  better  that 
they  were  removed  from  such  a  morally 
impure  atmosphere.  Long  association 
with  such  a  corrupt,  unprincipled  man  as 


BRENDA    MERTON.  265 

Harwood  Merton  had  blunted  the  finer 
sensibiHties  of  her  nature,  and  made  her 
forgetful  of  her  duty — that  of  early  instill- 
ing a  love  of  truth  and  principle  in  her 
child's  mind. 

Ah,  if  parents  could  only  know  of  the 
life-long  misery  and  sometimes  disgrace 
that  in  after  years  come  to  their  children 
by  not  teaching  them  to  speak  the  truth  in 
their  innocent  childhood  when  a  young 
child's  mind  is  so  susceptible  of  lasting 
impressions  !  What  more  detestable  thing 
exists  on  the  face  of  the  earth  than  an  or- 
dinary story  teller  ? 

For  awhile  Harwood  Merton  was  not 
positively  unkind  to  his  wife  :  he  was  only 
lax  in  principles  and  morals — that  was  be- 
fore he  commenced  drinking :  but  when 
the  habit  became  fully  established,  a  very 
demon  seemed  to  have  taken  possession 
of  his  soul,  and  loud  and  cruel  were  the 
blows  that  descended  on  the  back  of  his 
unfortunate  wife,  and  coarse  and  undeserv- 
ing were  the  names  that  he  called  her, 
which  she  bore  with  all  the  fortitude  she 
could. 


M 


266  BRENDA    MERTOX. 

One  stormy  night  when  the  thunders 
roared  and  the  Hghtnings  flashed  and  the 
rain  poured  down  in  torrents,  Harwood 
INIerton  came  home  in  a  fit  of  delirium 
tremens,  and  died  the  same  night,  while 
the  poor  helpless  woman  and  wife  lay  in 
the  bed  sick  and  half  crazed  with  fright. 
On  the  following  morning,  the  little 
Brenda  first  saw  the  light  of  day,  while  in 
the  same  room  lay  the  dead  body  of  her 
father  in  full  sight  of  the  afflicted  wife. 
Sad,  was  it  not  ? 

My  mother  related  all  this  to  me  when  I 
was  old  enough  to  understand.  Then,  is 
it  any  wonder  that  tainted  blood  will  show 
itself  at  the  offset?  If  parents  would  keep 
their  children  pure  and  uncorrupted,  let 
them  beware  with  whom  they  associate, 
and  who  they  bring  into  the  intimacy  of 
the  fireside  circle. 

I  am  going  to  try  to  relate  how,  step  by 
step,  this  tainted  blood  showed  itself  in  all 
the  after  life  and  actions  of  this  low-born 
child,  who  at  an  infantile  age  showed  so 
much  greed  and  avarice.  I  have  always 
thought,  and  have  never  yet  had  cause  to 


BRENDA    MERTON.  26/ 

change  my  opinion,  that  birth  will  tell,  and 
that  the  traits  a  child  develops  in  early 
life  will  cling  to  them  in  all  coming  years, 
perhaps  not  quite  so  bad,  but  often  they 
reach  a  higher  degree  of  refined  rascality. 
The  words  sound  coarse,  but  forcibly  ex- 
press the  truth.  Of  course,  their  passions 
are  outwardly  held  in  control  as  they  grow 
older,  which  affords  them  a  wider  scope 
for  the  exercise  of  the  concealed  weapons. 
If  a  child  is  a  thief  in  childhood,  I  would 
beware  how  I  trusted  that  child  when  it 
became  a  man  or  a  woman  :  if  addicted  to 
deception  in  early  youth,  in  maturer  age 
put  it  far  from  you,  let  their  education 
have  been  what  it  may;  for  "can  the 
leopard  change  his  spots  ?  " 

But  there  may  be  those  who  say  I  am 
advocating  a  dangerous,  specious  doctrine. 
Mind,  I  do  not  say  that  nothing  can  eradi- 
cate the  early  wrong  impressions,  but  that 
it  would  be  morally  dangerous  to  trust 
them  ;  it  would  be  always  well  to  be  on 
our  guard ;  yet  much  might  be  accom- 
plished by  precept  and  example,  and  by  a 
living    and    reaching    after    the    truth    to 


268  BRENDA    MERTON. 

remove  the  errors  of  false  reasoning 
and  teaching. 

The  morning  after  the  advent  of  the 
little  Brenda,  my  mother  called  me  to  her 
room  and  told  she  wanted  me  to  accom- 
pany her  to  a  neighboring  town  to  pur- 
chase some  suitable  clothing  for  the  little 
child.  I  gladly  made  ready  for  the  trip, 
which  was  not  more  than  a  mile  or  so 
from  our  house. 

We  left  the  two  children  at  play  in  the 
front  yard,  under  the  care  of  Hannah,  who 
never  seemed  out  of  place,  and  was  the 
quintessence  of  goodness  and  kindness. 
Little  Bertha  had  generously  brought  out 
all  of  her  large  family  of  dolls  and  doll 
furniture,  and  toys,  and  painted  blocks, 
delighted  and  amused  the  little  Brenda, 
who  had  never  in  all  her  life  beheld  any- 
thing so  gorgeously  beautiful  as  the  large, 
wax  doll,  with  its  moving  blue  eyes  and 
long,  light  curls,  which  my  dear  little  sis- 
ter, bent  upon  conferring  pleasure,  crowded 
into  her  arms. 

The  miniature  Miss  was  attired  in  a 
handsome  white  satin  dress,  covered  with 


BRENDA    MERTON.  269 

puffs  of  illusion,  and  a  broad,  blue  ribbon 
sash,  tied  in  large  loops  at  one  side,  while 
the  crowning  glory  consisted  in  a  white 
crape  hat  with  an  exquisite  wreath  of  tiny- 
rose-buds  extending  entirely  around  it.  It 
had  been  a  present  from  Santa  Claus,  and 
I,  old  enough  to  know  who  Santa  Claus 
was,  had  sat  up  into  the  night  with  my 
molher,  helping  her  to  dress  it.  To  the 
orphan  child  it  seemed  a  perfect  fairy  ; 
she  seemed  never  to  tire  looking  at  it,  and 
my  mother  resolved  she  would  buy  one 
for  her  equally  as  handsome. 

When  we  returned  from  the  town  to- 
ward dinner  time,  laden  down  with  bun- 
dles of  ev-ery  description,  and  the  child 
found  that  the  purchases  had  been  ex- 
pressly for  her,  her  delight  knew  no 
bounds.  She  clapped  her  wee  brown 
hands,  and  danced  around  like  something 
wild.  It  was  well  worth  while  to  gratify  a 
taste  so  perfect  and  decided  as  this  penni- 
less child  evinced ;  yet  the  instincts  and 
tastes  of  a  child  show  themselves  early. 
The  little  Brenda  chose  the  brightest  and 
showiest  of  patterns    as    her  especial  de- 


2/0  BRENDA    MERTOX. 

light,  and  flew  around  like  something 
wild. 

Hannah  exclaimed  :  "  Lord  bless  the 
child  !  Did  any  body  ever  see  anything 
like  it?" 

My  mother  had  certainly  purchased  lib- 
erally and  with  undisputed  taste  ;  for  she 
had  intended  the  child,  who  henceforth  was 
to  be  an  inmate  of  her  own  house  and  as- 
sociated with  her  own  daughters,  to  be 
equally  as  well  dressed,  like  the  true  wo- 
man and  mother  that  she  was.  She  did 
not  want  the  orphan  child  to  feel  the 
sting  of  dependence,  and  wanted  her  to 
feel  that  she  had  a  home  indeed.  Hers 
was  the  true  nobility  of  nature,  which 
seeks  to  avoid  wounding  the  feelings  of 
those  whose  helplessness  leaves  them  ex- 
posed to  insult. 

As  I  have  said,  my  mother  purchased 
with  an  unstinting  hand  ;  for  the  child  had 
literally  to  be  clothed  from  head  to  foot, 
not  having  in  her  possession  a  decent 
garment  in  the  world,  although  she  aptly 
showed  her  appreciation  of  the  "  purple 
and  fine  linen,"  metaphorically  speaking. 


BRENDA    MERTON.  2/1 

And  when  the  bundles  were  spread  out 
after  the  strings  and  covers  were  torn 
from  them,  with  all  their  treasures  dis- 
played before  her  eyes,  as  I  have  said,  her 
delight  knew  no  bounds. 

There  was  a  whole  piece  of  linen  to  be 
made  into  aprons,  and  whole  cards  of  ex- 
quisite pearl  buttons,  and  no  end  to  the 
trimming  and  the  embroidery,  and  whole 
pieces  of  white  lawn  and  delicate  muslins 
with  tiny  figures  in  blue  and  pink  and 
purple,  with  sashes  to  match  ;  and  one 
dress,  a  deep  rose-colored  muslin,  particu- 
larly struck  her  fancy  ;  and  then,  there 
was  a  box  of  fine  white  stockings,  and 
slippers  with  tiny  high  heels,  and  lovely 
little  rosettes  on  them  ;  also,  a  small  para- 
sol lined  with  pale  rose-color,  with  a 
carved  ivory  handle,  and  a  beautiful  little 
fan  with  a  fringed,  feathery  border.  The 
child  never  in  her  life  had  possessed  such 
treasures.  To  her,  it  seemed  that  she 
had  entered  some  enchanted  domain,  re- 
sembling the  Arabian  Nights. 

My  mother  was  much  gratified  by  such 
genuine  delight ;  and   I  know   my   father 


2/2  BRENDA    MERTOX. 

sympathized  with  her,  and  was  glad  of  the 
ample  means  which  allowed  her  the  indul- 
gence. The  child  rose  suddenly  into  im- 
portance in  her  own  estimation,  and  in  a 
few  days  moved  and  acted  as  if  she  had 
been  born  and  reared  in  our  home  and 
lived  there  all  her  life. 

Once  my  mother  took  her  to  the  church- 
yard to  the  grave  of  her  mother,  thinking 
best  not  to  let  her  entirely  forget,  and 
teaching  her  to  respect  her  mother's  mem- 
ory ;  but  when  the  child  beheld  the  lonely 
grave,  she  drew  back  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience  and  petulance,  and  said  : 

"  Mama  was  poor  and  made  me  wear 
ugly  clothes,  and  lived  in  a  mean  little 
house,  not  pretty  like  yours  ;  and  1  don't 
want  to  think  about  it.  Come,  let  us  go 
back  to  your  pretty  house,  and  you  shall 
be  my  pretty  mama  now." 

And  the  child  turned  flippantly  away 
to  contemplate  her  now  fine  clothes,  and 
to  admire  the  rosettes  on  her  slippers. 

My  mother  lamented  the  disposition 
and  the  vanity  that  so  early  was  beginning 
to  show  itself.     In  gentle,  winning  tones, 


B  KEN  DA  MERTON.  273 

she  attempted  to  draw  away  the  child's 
mind  from  the  study  of  her  new  clothes, 
and  to  direct  her  thoughts  to  the  loss  of 
her  mother ;  but  she  was  willful  and  ob- 
stinate, and  persisted  in  saying  she  did  not 
want  to  remember  anything  of  her  old 
life. 

What  a  crying  sin  is  ingratitude  !  and 
how  early  did  it  show  itself  in  the  mind  of 
this  untaught  child !  yet  there  are  older 
people  equally  as  guilty. 

My  mother  employed  a  poor  woman 
who  lived  on  our  place  near  by,  and  a 
neat  seamstress  she  was,  to  make  up  the 
clothes  she  had  purchased,  which  she  did 
rapidly  ;  and  when  they  were  finished  and 
brought  home,  and  the  child  for  the  first 
time  dressed  in  them,  she  seemed  like  one 
transformed.  She  was  superbly  hand- 
some in  the  rose-colored  muslin,  which 
had  so  struck  her  oriental  fancy,  with 
white  lace  around  the  neck  and  sleeves, 
which  she  had  insisted  on  putting  on,  and 
as  usual  had  her  own  way — for  the  rose- 
color  of  her  dress  well  matched  the  carna- 
tions in  her  cheeks,  and  she  bore  her  hon- 


274  BRENDA    MERTON. 

ors  regally  well,  and  stepped  with  the  air 
of  a  young  queen,  which  amused  excess- 
ively all  of  the  household. 

One  day  Mrs.  Wilmot,  an  old  lady  who 
lived  in  the  neighborhood,  was  spending 
the  day  with  my  mother.  She  was  a 
shrewd,  practical,  far-seeing  woman,  with 
good  common  sense  and  plenty  of  expe- 
rience in  the  world  in  her  dealings  with 
people.  She  had  not  lived  so  long  for 
nothing ;  and  her  cold,  searching  eyes, 
with  a  metallic  glitter  in  them,  sought  and 
found  out  all  that  was  worth  knowing 
about  those  with  whom  she  came  in  con- 
tact. The  old  lady  had  had  many  a  tough 
battle  with  life,  and  generally  bore  flying 
colors  from  the  field,  while  her  quick  in- 
sight into  character  was  hardly  ever  at 
fault.  An  unerring  instinct  and  a  keen 
perception  kept  her  well  informed  as  to 
the  gold  that  was  mixed  with  dross — un- 
like my  mother,  who  was  ever  willing  to 
forgive  the  bad  in  people  and  seek  the 
salient  points  in  one's  character  and  bring 
them  out  in  relief. 

My  dear  mother !   she  always  looked  on 


BRENDA    MERTON.  2/5 

the  sunny  side  of  life,  with  her  heavenly 
faith  in  the  belief  that  there's  ''  good  in 
all  and  none  all  good." 

I  remember  perfectly  well  that  hazy 
summer  afternoon  ;  dinner  was  over,  and 
the  servants  had  cleared  away  the  table 
and  gone  about  their  business,  and  all  was 
quiet  in  the  house.  The  two  children, 
Bertha  and  Brenda,  had  taken  their  dolls 
under  the  shade  of  a  large  sycamore  tree, 
where  Hannah  had  spread  a  large  piece 
of  faded  carpet  to  protect  their  white 
dresses  from  the  grass,  and  she  had  re- 
tired a  short  distance  off  in  a  low  chair, 
with  some  sewing  in  her  lap,  for  Hannah 
was  very  handy,  and  sewed  as  neatly  as 
anyone  you  ever  saw.  I  think  she  was 
sewing  some  trimming  on  a  coquettish  little 
muslin  apron  for  the  orphan,  tacking  some 
bows  of  pink  ribbon  on  the  little  square 
pockets  which  were  bordered  with  lace. 

I  think  sometimes  now  that  my  mother 
ought  to  have  seen  the  growing  vanity  of 
the  child,  and  her  better  judgment  should 
have  told  her  that  she  was  doing  wrong 
to  thus  pamper  to  the  cravings  and  tastes 


2/6  BRENDA    MERTON. 

of  a  Spoiled  child  who  would  illy  brook  de- 
nial to  anything  she  ardently  wished  for  ; 
for  ever  since  the  wayward  feet  of  the 
little  Brenda  had  crossed  our  threshold, 
she  had  had  her  own  w^ay.  The  rest  of  us 
had  been  used  to  obedience,  and  we  won- 
dered how  any  of  them  could  be  so  af- 
fected by  her  imperious  ways. 

But  I  was  going  on  to  describe  the  ap- 
pearance of  our  household  on  the  day 
that  Mrs.  Wilmot  made  her  visit  there. 

I  had  taken  a  pretty  book  of  tales  on 
the  back  piazza,  which  was  over-run  with 
creeping  vines  and  purple  and  white 
miorning  glories,  forming  a  dense,  cool 
shade  from  the  burning  August  sun,  and, 
sitting  on  a  low,  light  rocker,  soon  lost 
myself  in  the  delights  of  Cinderella  and 
the  glass  slipper-— they  always  held  me 
with  a  species  of  enchantment — and  I  had 
just  arrived  at  the  place  where  she  had 
met  the  prince  and  was  hurrying  away 
from  the  ball  when  the  clock  was  striking 
twelve  and  her  finery  was  turning  to 
rags,  when  I  was  arrested  by  the  sound  of 
my  mother's    and    Mrs.    Wilmot's    voices 


BRENDA    MERTON.  277 

from  the  adjoining  room,  used  as  a  sitting- 
room,  and  peculiarly  adapted  to  summer 
uses  on  account  of  the  cool,  quiet  seclu- 
sion of  the  place — just  the  place  for  a 
comfortable,  cozy  chat  with  a  friend  on  a 
hot  summer  afternoon,  where,  if  so  dis- 
posed, one  could  loosen  the  hair  and  don 
a  wrapper  without  fear  of  interruption. 

I  cauorht  the  sound  of  little  Brenda's 
name,  and  confess  to  some  curiosity  as  to 
what  was  coming  next.  It  may  have  been 
wrong  in  me  to  have  stayed  and  listened 
when  I  am  sure  my  mother  thought  there 
was  no  one  in  hearing ;  but  older  people 
have  done  as  much  when  more  important 
subjects  than  the  orphan  child  were  the 
theme.  I  was  only  a  child  then,  and  felt  a 
great  curiosity  as  to  what  they  were  going 
to  say,  and  to  hear  what  our  visitor 
thouorht  of  the  little  orirl  whom  she  had 
met  several  times  at  our  house. 

She,  Mrs.  Wilmot,  spoke  in  her  forci- 
ble, determined  tones,  and  I  fancied  I 
could  almost  see  the  sharp  flash  of  the 
steely  blue  eye  as  she  spoke  : 

'*  Mrs.   Marston,  are  you  aware   of  the 


2/8  BRENDA    MERTON. 

great  wrong  you  are  doing  to  Lucy  Mer- 
ton's  child  ?  In  my  estimation,  you  are 
committing  a  grievous  sin." 

I  can  fancy  the  old  lady  laying  down 
her  work,  crossing  her  hands  on  her  lap, 
and  gazing  steadily  at  my  mother ;  for 
she  never  hesitated  to  unbosom  herself 
on  any  occasion,  and  generally  denounced 
in  sweeping  terms  anything  so  unfortu- 
nate as  to  cause  her  disapprobation. 

My  mother's  tones  came  low  and  clear, 
and  I  can  fancy,  too,  that  a  shadow  crossed 
her  face. 

''  In  what  way,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Wil- 
mot?  Be  good  enough  to  point  it  out  to 
me.     I  do  not  think  I  understand  you." 

"  It  is  this  ;"  and  the  old  lady  delivered 
herself  with  emphasis,  "you  have  taken 
the  child,  Brenda  Merton,  from  a  life  of 
poverty  and  toil,  where  her  mother  scarcely 
obtained  enough  to  keep  soul  and  body 
together,  and  where  she  has  been  stinted 
and  half-starved  all  the  years  of  her  young 
life  ;  you  have  brought  her  here  and  sud- 
denly elevated  her  to  the  equal  rights 
and  privileges  of  your  own  daughters." 


BRENDA    MERTON.  2/9 

"Well,  I  want  to  know  how  that  is  go- 
ing to  harm  her?  The  child  has  decided 
tastes  for  one  so  young  and  who  has  seen 
so  little." 

"  Don't  you  see,"  snapped  the  old  lady, 
''  that  you  are  placing  her  far  above  her 
social  position  ?  and  after  you  educate  her 
she  is  going  to  despise  everybody  that  is 
not  as  well  dressed  and  educated  as  her- 
self? I  can  see  it  growing  on  her  now. 
Why,  the  child  is  as  vain  as  a  peacock 
who  struts  so  proudly  among  the  barn- 
yard fowls  until  he  looks  down  disgust- 
edly at  his  coarse  feet  and  ungainly  legs  ;" 
and  the  old  lady  laughed  at  her  own  idea. 

''So  it  is  going  to  be  with  that  child 
that  you  have  been  so  good  as  to  keep 
out  of  the  poor-house  ;  she  is  now  mighty 
proud  of  her  fine  clothes,  but  when  she 
grows  up,  and  some  spiteful  school  child 
throws  up  to  her  where  she  came  from 
and  how  her  vagabond  father  died  in  a  fit 
of  delirium  tremens  the  night  before  she 
was  born,  and  was  buried  by  public  char- 
ity ;  then  she  will  feel  somewhat  lowered 
in  her  own    estimation.     You    may  mark 


280  BREXDA    MERTON. 

my  words,  some  of  them  will  be  kind 
enough  to  remind  her  of  it  ;  and  then 
don't  you  think  her  fine  plumage  will  fall  ? 
Can't  you  see  how  scornfully  she  looks 
down  on  the  neighborhood  children  at  the 
Sunday-school  ?" 

For  we  had  a  chapel,  and  there  was 
service  every  Sabbath  morning  and  Sun- 
day-school in  the  afternoon. 

''  No,"  my  mother  replied  ;  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  the  kind ;  indeed,  I  have  not 
given  the  subject  a  thought." 

''  Well,  I  have,"  rejoined  old  Mrs.  Wil- 
mot.  "Last  Sunday — you  know  I  always 
go  to  Sunday-school  except  on  rainy,  bad 
days — I  saw  this  little  Brenda  Merton,  who 
would  be  far  more  at  home  in  a  poor- 
house  " — the  old  lady  could  not  divest 
herself  of  the  idea  that  the  child  would  be 
better  off  in  a  poor-house — ''  draw  in  the 
ruffled  skirts  of  her  silk  dress — silk!" — 
the  old  lady  repeated  scornfully;  "the 
idea  of  you  giving  a  pauper  child  silk  is 
ridiculous — when  some  of  the  plainer 
dressed  girls  were  getting  a  seat  by  her. 
It  made  me  furious  to  see  the  airs  she  put 


BRENDA    MERTON.  28  I 

on,  as  if  everybody  did  not  know  where 
she  came  from." 

Mrs.  Wilmot  was  right  about  the  child 
Brenda  having  on  the  silk  dress,  beauti- 
fully ruffled  to  the  waist.  My  mother  had 
bought  and  had  made  for  her  a  small 
checked,  crimson  and  white  summer  silk, 
not  very  expensive  after  all,  but  very 
stylish  when  made  up.  Each  of  us,  my 
little  sister  and  myself,  had  one,  and  the 
child  admired  them  so  intensely  that  my 
mother,  with  a  native  generosity  of  heart 
which  has  always  distinguished  her,  deter- 
mined to  get  the  orphan  one  too.  This 
same  silk  which  Mrs.  Wilmot  held  in 
such  contempt,  was  the  special  delight  of 
the  child ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  a  born 
empress  could  have  moved  with  any  more 
stately  step  than  this  proud,  pauper  child, 
who,  with  a  single,  frosted,  crimson  rose, 
with  dark,  shining  green  leaves  that 
sparkled  like  dew  drops,  on  the  front  of 
her  white  straw  hat,  with  long  ends  of 
handsome,  broad,  white  ribbon  resting  on 
the  floating,  waving,  black  hair,  so  scorn- 
fully drew  in  the  ruffled  skirts  of  the  con- 


282  BRENDA  MERTON. 

demned  silk  on  the  Sunday  to  which  Mrs. 
Wilmot  alluded. 

I  had  seen  the  disdain  which  excited  the 
direful  wrath  of  the  old  lady,  and  com- 
mented on  it  to  myself.  Now,  since  I 
have  thought  of  it,  I  remember  the  sharp 
looks  she  gave  the  child,  as  if  she  would 
like  to  have  administered  a  sound  boxing 
on  the  small,  brown,  shell-shaped  ears.  I 
do  not  think  I  ever  forgdt  anything  in  my 
life,  and  it  seems  that  everything  con- 
nected with. the  orphan  had  indelibly  im- 
pressed itself  on  my  memory. 

My  mother  had  replied  to  the  tirade 
about  the  silk  that  *'  the  child  had  seemed 
to  covet  such  things,  and  to  afford  pleas- 
ure she  had  bought  them,  never  thinking 
of  harm." 

**And  for  that  very  reason,  the  coveting 
you  spoke  of,  you  should  not  have  given 
them  to  her.  You  should  have  let  her 
gone  without  them,  and  taught  her  a 
lesson  of  self-denial.  Do  you  suppose 
you  will  always  be  able  to  keep  her  so 
well-dressed  ?  Who  knows  what  may 
happen  to  you  in  after  years  ?     You  may 


BRENDA  MERTON.  283 

not  be  so  prosperous  as  you  are  now.  I 
know  what  you  are  thinking,"  the  old  lady 
went  on  to  say;  *'but  I  intend  to  do  my 
duty.  You  are  thinking  to  yourself  that 
it  is  none  of  my  business  ;  but  I  have  not 
yet  told  you  all  that  I  intended  to.  The 
things  which  I  have  spoken  of  are  the 
least  objectionable.  That  child's  father 
once  committed  a  theft ;  true,  the  amount 
was  not  large,  but  the  crime  was  none  the 
less  hateful." 

''Well,"  asked  my  mother,  ''how,  I 
would  like  to  know,  is  that  going  to  affect 
the  child  whom  you  seem  to  have  culti- 
vated such  an  aversion  for?" 

My  mother  spoke  quite  seriously.  I 
knew  she  was  thinking  deeply  from  the 
inflection  of  her  voice. 

"  In  this  way."  Old  Mrs.  Wilmot  de- 
livered herself  in  short  jerking  accents. 
"  Bad  blood  always  shows  itself  in  some 
way  or  other;  and  when  the  parents  are 
tainted,  it  generally  comes  out  in  the 
children,  unto  the  third  and  fourth  gene- 
rations. You  remember  you  sent  Myrtle" 
— I  held  my  breath  when  my  own  name 


284  BRENDA    MERTON. 

was  called,  and  was  wondering  what  would 
come  next — "  with  Hannah  and  little 
Brenda  to  my  house  one  evening  for  some 
leaven  to  make  light  rolls — and  you  know 
I  always  have  the  lightest  and  foamiest  of 
anybody  in  the  neighborhood.  Well,  I 
got  the  leaven  and  wrapped  it  up  in  a 
paper,  and  gave  it  to  Hannah.  Well,  I 
happened  to  think  of  some  nice  light  tea- 
cakes  in  the  pantry  that  Betty  had  made 
that  morning,  and  I  went  out  to  get  some 
for  the  children,  and  as  I  was  coming  back 
into  the  room,  I  saw  this  pet  of  yours  slyly 
lift  something  from  the  corner  of  the  table 
near  where  she  was  sitting — Hannah  stood 
not  far  off — and  I  saw  her  hide  it  under 
the  corner  of  her  linen  apron  ;  "  and  the 
old  lady  jerked  out  the  word  ''  linen  "  with 
a  spiteful  emphasis  that  made  me  smile 
where  I  was  sitting.  "  But  Hannah,  who 
is  quick-sighted,  saw  it  too,  and  quickly 
reaching  forth  her  hand,  took  it  from  her 
and  restored  the  article  to  the  table,  as 
she  thought,  unseen  by  me.  It  was  my 
little  silver  fruit  knife  that  my  little  grand- 
daughter had  sent  me  from  the  city  last 


BRENDA    MERTON.  285 

Christmas,  and  I  had  been  peeHng  and 
eating  some  peaches  just  before  the  chil- 
dren came,  and  I  had  laid  it  on  the  table 
just  before  you  came.  I  wonder  Hannah 
never  told  you." 

My  mother,  as  might  be  supposed,  was 
slightly  shaken,  but  did  not  seem  to  attach 
as  much  importance  to  it  as  old  Mrs.  Wil- 
mot  evidently  had  thought  she  would, 
and  it  seemed  to  irritate  her  very  much. 

So  she  replied  to  the  old  lady : 

"  I  think  we  will  bring  her  up  so  that 
her  first  impressions  will  be  forgotten  by 
the  time  she  is  grown.  At  any  rate  I  am 
going  to  discharge  my  duty  by  her  ;  and 
I  think  if  some  of  our  people  who  talk 
and  write  so  much,  and  in  such  high-flown 
strains  about  the  '  benighted  heathen ' 
would  seek  out  some  child  from  amon2" 
'  les  miserablesj  and  teach  and  point  out 
the  way  of  duty,  they  would  feel  all  the 
better  for  it." 

"Yes,  and  bring  under  your  own  roof, 
among  your  own  pure  daughters,  a  thief 
and  the  daughter  of  a  thief.  I  acknowl- 
edge I  do  not  see  the  duty  that  lies  in  that 


286  BRENDA    MERTON. 

line.  It  Is  all  very  well  to  talk  about  the 
*  charity  that  begins  at  home,'  but  I  would 
look  long  before  I  would  receive  a  thief 
in  my  household." 

The  old  lady  spoke  warmly,  and  I  knew 
she  felt  every  word  she  said. 

''  I  am  sorry,  Mrs.  Wilmot,  that  you 
seem  so  much  prejudiced  against  the  child. 
I  know  she  is  full  of  faults,  and  not  at  all 
times  as  obedient  as  she  ought  to  be,  but 
I  am  going  to  do  my  best,  and  see  if  I 
can  not  prove  to  you  that  example  will  do 
much  towards  correcting  early  wrong  im- 
pressions." 

''And  much  reward  will  you  get  for  your 
pains !  I  tell  you,  the  child  is  sly,  as  sly 
as  an  ape ;  and  mind  if  you  do  not  some 
day  live  to  remember  my  words.  If  there 
is  anything  I  hate,  it  is  a  sly  child,  and  a 
sly  child  will  make  a  sly  woman." 

My  father's  footsteps  sounded  on  the 
front  piazza,  and  that  put  an  end  to  the 
conversation  ;  and  shortly  afterwards,  Mrs. 
Wilmot  took  her  leave,  promising  to  call 
again  at  an  early  day. 

I  watched  my  mother  narrowly  at  the 


BRENDA    MERTON.  28/ 

tea-table,  and  I  think  her  face  was  a  trifle 
paler,  and  the  almost  prophetic  warning 
of  old  Mrs.  Wilmot  caused  the  shadow 
on  her  face  ;  and  I  think  now,  and  have 
always  thought,  that  she  was  thinking, 
when  she  sat  so  serenely  smiling  and 
talking  so  pleasantly  at  the  table,  that  per- 
haps she  had  done  an  unwise  thing  in 
bringing  this  child  into  her  family ;  and  I 
also  know  that  whatever  may  have  been 
her  thoughts  at  that  time,  that  she  was  re- 
solved that,  come  whatever  might,  she 
would  discharge  her  duty  and  make  her- 
self worthy  of  the  trust  that  the  child's 
dead  mother  saw  fit  to  repose  in  her. 

I  remember  my  father  asking  her  what 
made  her  look  ''  so  thoughtful,"  and  she 
had  answered,  ''Oh,  I  am  thinking  of  a 
good  many  things,"  and  then  the  conver- 
sation had  drifted  into  pleasant  topics,  and 
my  father  laughed  and  jested  with  the 
little  girls  and  asked  them  how  many  new 
doll  dresses  they  had  made  that  afternoon, 
and  how  many  hats  and  mantles  and 
sacques  the  miniature  misses  possessed, 
and    who,    a    la    Flora    McFlimsy,    had 

i 

•J 


288  BRENDA    MERTON. 

scarcely  anything  to  wear.  I  was  think- 
ing all  the  time  of  what  Mrs.  Wilmot 
had  said  about  the  child's  stealing,  and  I 
think  the  thought  staggered  my  mother 
too,  for  she  remembered  how  the  little 
Brenda  had  clutched  at  my  little  sister's 
necklace  the  first  evening  of  her  coming  to 
our  home. 

That  night  the  little  orphan  was  in  high 
good  humor,  and  very  talkative,  for  the 
child  was  a  perfect  little  enthusiast  when 
pleased,  or  anything  struck  her  fancy  ;  she 
was  discoursing  largely  on  the  "doll  wed- 
ding "  that  was  to  come  off  on  the  follow- 
ing day,  and  was  going  to  send  over  for 
some  little  girls  who  lived  just  in  sight, 
and  have  them,  too,  to  bring  their  dolls. 
On  the  whole,  they  were  to  have  a  grand 
time  of  it. 

Little  Brenda  had  eaten  very  bounti- 
fully of  cake  that  was  left  from  dessert  at 
dinner,  and  when  she  asked  to  be  helped 
again,  my  mother  told  her  very  kindly  and 
firmly  that  she  had  eaten  enough,  the 
child  flew  into  a  perfect  passion  of  tears, 
and    called    my   mother    an    ''old,    mean, 


BkENDA    MERTON.  289 

Stingy  thing,"  and  in  her  bHnd  anger 
started  up  from  the  table. 

A  flush  dyed  my  mother's  usually  calm 
cheek,  but  she  bade  her  keep  her  seat 
at  the  table,  and  then  Brenda  relapsed 
into  sullen  silence,  refusing  to  answer 
when  spoken  to ;  neither  did  she,  until 
her  fit  of  ill  humor  passed  away  ;  and  then 
I  knew  my  mother  was  thinking  of  old 
Mrs.  Wilmot's  words  concerning  the  en- 
tire family  whom  she  declared  to  be  ''  evil, 
root,  branch  and  stock." 

In  after  years  that  warning  came  back 
to  her,  but  when  too  late. 

My  little  sister  Bertha — I  do  not  think  I 
ever  described  her  to  you  :  her  eyes  were 
of  the  deepest  blue,  large  and  clear,  and 
her  hair  of  a  pale,  golden  yellow,  almost 
the  color  of  ripe  corn-silks ;  she  was  in 
every  sense  of  the  word  an  exquisite 
beauty,  and  gave  promise,  too,  of  a  good 
mind.  As  a  child,  she  was  submissive  and 
easily  governed,  and  was  a  very  sunbeam 
in  our  household  ;  yet  she  always  gave  up 
to  the  imperious  little  pauper. 

It  may  sound  out  of  place,  but  I  have 

N 


290  BRENDA  MERTON. 

always  felt  like  calling  her  that  since  that 
conversation  between  my  mother  and  old 
Mrs.  Wilmot,  when  I  sat  and  listened  to 
her  on  the  shaded  piazza,  hidden  from 
sight  ;  the  words  rise  to  my  lips  whenever 
a  thought  of  the  child  comes  into  my 
mind. 

Brenda  ruled  my  darling  little  sister 
with  a  rod  of  iron,  save  when  I  was  by  to 
take  her  part  ;  and  several  times  I  had 
gone  to  my  mother  with  a  tale  of  my 
grievances. 

If  the  child,  Brenda,  wanted  anything 
that  my  little  sister  had,  she  unceremoni- 
ously appropriated  it  without  leave  or 
license,  and  making  no  apology.  As  I 
have  said,  I  went  to  my  mother  with  our 
disturbances  ;  but  it  only  seemed  to  make 
her  feel  badly,  and  at  last  I  resolved  to 
watch  her  narrowly  myself  and  make  no 
one  any  wiser  for  the  information.  Truly 
was  Mrs.  Wilmot  right  in  saying  the 
child  was  '*  sly,"  for  she  seemed  possessed 
of  the  cunning  and  subtlety  of  a  serpent. 
As  she  grew  older — and  age  is  in  experi- 
ence and  not  in  years — she   no  longer  in- 


BRENDA    MERTON.  2gl 

dulged  in  passionate  out-breaks,  and  in- 
sisting in  that  imperious  manner  for  her 
own  way.  With  the  consummate  tact  of 
a  skillful  general,  she  manoeuvred  and 
gained  her  ends  in  that  way — by  decep- 
tion. Why,  the  child  would  tell  the  most 
bare-faced,  shameless  falsehoods  with  un- 
blushing effrontery.  I,  for  one,  grew 
never  to  believe  a  word  she  said,  unless 
I  knew  from  other  sources  she  was  telling 
the  truth.  It  hurt  my  mother  deeply,  and 
with  her  she  remonstrated  all  in  vain.  It 
was  born  in  her  surely  or  she  could  not 
have  been  so  addicted  to  it  in  so  short  a 
time.  If  Brenda  broke  or  lost  anything  ; 
if  she  happened  to  do  any  little  thing  that 
failed  to  meet  with  approbation,  she  would 
positively  and  flatly  deny  it  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  nation. 

Now,  I  had  always  had  a  holy  horror  of 
lying,  and  had  been  taught  to  consider  it 
as  a  crying  sin  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  ; 
and  for  me  and  my  pure-hearted,  guileless 
little  sister  to  be  daily  associated  with  a 
common  liar  was  too  bad. 

Many  and  many  a  time  have  I  seen  her 


292  BRENDA  MERTON. 

do  things  calculated  to  call  forth  the  dis- 
approval of  my  parents,  and  this  unblush- 
ing child  of  sin  would  pronounce  my  sis- 
ter the  author  of  the  mischief,  which  made 
me  grow  daily  to  dislike  her  more  and 
more ;  and  if  my  mother  could  have  re- 
called the  past,  she  would  have  unhesitat- 
ingly done  so,  and  left  her  in  her  mother's 
care  to  be  looked  after  by  the  county. 

At  school  she  committed  some  grave 
offenses  and  always  attempted  to  lay  the 
blame  on  my  sister ;  but  the  teacher,  who 
had  sharp  eyes,  soon  discovered  the  real 
offender,  and  more  than  once  exposed  her 
to  public  disgrace. 

Brenda  Merton  was  growing  up  splen- 
didly beautiful,  and  as  haughty  as  a  prin- 
cess. People  would  often  turn  to  look  at 
her,  with  looks  of  deepest  admiration, 
which  she  received  as  if  she  had  been  to 
the  "  manor  born." 

She  studied  well,  too  ;  and  if  her  moral 
nature  had  kept  pace  with  her  physical 
beauty,  she  would  have  made  a  superb 
woman. 

At  sixteen  she   was  tall  and  well  devel- 


BRENDA  MERTON.  293 

oped  ill  every  way ;  more  so  than  many 
girls  of  the  ages  of  nineteen  and  twenty. 
If  there  was  one  thing  in  the  world  that 
this  wayward  child  dearly  loved,  it  was  to 
create  a  ^'sensation  " — to  take  people  by 
storm — and  I  know  now  that  the  sole 
thought  of  this  ambitious  "  pauper  "  was  to 
make  a  brilliant  match.  She  quite  dis- 
dained the  company  of  the  neighboring 
gentlemen,  unless,  indeed,  those  whose 
lives  have  been  spent  in  foreign  colleges, 
and  drove  fast  horses,  and  drank  wine, 
and  played  fast  and  loose  with  woman's 
hearts. 

My  sister  Bertha  quite  sank  into  insig- 
nificance before  this  brilliant,  scheming 
girl ;  yet  my  sister  was  as  pure  and  beau- 
tiful as  a  lily. 

Thus  the  years  passed  on  :  and  amid 
the  trials  and  troubles  consequent  on 
school  life,  the  time  arrived  for  them  both 
to  graduate,  which  they  did  with  much 
honor  to  themselves.  After  graduating, 
they  took  their  places  in  society,  the  one 
to  rule  right  regally  and  seek  for  admira- 
tion, the  other  as  fair  and  pure  as  a  lily, 


294  BRENDA    MERTON. 

and  as  modest  as  a  daisy,  waiting  to  be 
sought. 

Our  neighborhood  that  summer  was  very 
gay.  Where  we  hved  it  was  thickly  set- 
tled, and  plenty  of  young  gentlemen  and 
ladies  enough  to  make  merriment.  We 
had  picnics  and  amateur  theatricals,  and 
every  species  of  amusement  that  could  be 
invented,  and  Brenda  Merton,  under  the 
patronage  of  my  father  and  mother,  was 
the  queen  of  them  all — the  leading,  moving 
spirit. 

In  company  she  pretended  to  love  my 
sister — I  had  almost  written  the  word  little, 
for  it  did  seem  strange  to  me  to  think  of 
us  all  as  grown  young  ladies,  receiving  the 
attentions  of  gentlemen — yet  in  my  heart 
I  knew  Brenda  hated  my  sister  for  her 
pure,  refined,  exalted  nature  and  beauty, 
which  had  the  faculty  of  retaining  hearts 
where  her  gorgeous,  tropical  style  failed  ; 
which  reminded  one  of  the  effervescence 
of  champagne :  the  sparkle  was  soon 
over,  and  only  a  flat,  insipid  taste  re- 
mained. 

In  one  particular  instance — for  I,  with 


BRENDA    MERTON.  295 

my  old  dislike  and  distrust  revived,  by  the 
almost  prophetic  admonition  of  old  Mrs. 
Wilmot,  who  had  long  ago  been  gath- 
ered to  her  fathers,  watched,  or  at  least 
thought  I  was  watching  her  all  the  time  ; 
yet  with  all  my  carefulness  the  girl  con- 
tinued to  do  much  mischief  unawares  ;  for 
what  can  not  a  sly  woman  do  ? 

We,  my  sister  and  myself,  whose  feet 
had  never  strayed  from  the  paths  of 
right  and  duty,  were  but  an  indiffer- 
ent match  for  the  girl  so  skillful  in  the  use 
of  the  weapons  with  which  she  stabbed  in 
the  dark ;  and  I  know,  too,  that  this  same 
Brenda  Merton,  who  had  slept  under  our 
roof  from  her  orphaned  childhood,  and 
been  nursed  and  tended  as  a  daughter  of 
the  house,  hated  me  ;  for  I  think  she  knew 
that  I  suspected  her  of  duplicity.  I  have 
seen  her  bend  her  black  eyes  on  me  with 
a  look  of  keen  questioning,  as  if  she 
woula  read  my  very  soul. 

To  confess  the  truth,  my  mother  had 
become  heartily  tired  of  her  long  ago ; 
and  Brenda  had  given  her  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  and  but  illy  repaid   the  kindness 


296  BRENDA    MERTON. 

that  had  given  her,  in  every  sense  of  that 
suggestive  word,  a  home.  With  a  shame- 
less disregard  of  my  mother's  wishes, 
Brenda  Merton  did  exactly  as  she  pleased, 
when,  and  where,  and  how  she  pleased, 
on  all  occasions.  She,  the  pauper  child, 
consulted  her  own  tastes  and  pleasures  in 
everything  that  pertained  to  our  house- 
hold. 

What  could  my  mother  do  ?  turn  the 
girl  into  the  world  without  home  or  shel- 
ter ?  No ;  she  could  not  do  that  cruel 
thing,  as  she  had  but  few  ideas  of  earn- 
ing her  own  living.  She  had  but  little 
appreciation  of  anything  save  a  sensuous 
love  of  indolence  and  luxurious  ease. 
So  my  mother  kept  thinking  that  perhaps 
marriage  would  some  day  relieve  her 
of  what  had  now  become  to  her  a  heavy, 
tiresome  burden. 

And  right  here  let  me  say,  if  I  had  had 
my  way,  I  should  have  packed  her  off  any- 
where, so  we  were  freed  from  her;  and 
she  might  have  eked  out  a  scanty  subsis- 
tence as  best  she  might,  as  she  ate  her 
daily    bread    with    so    much    ingratitude. 


BRENDA    MERTON.  29/ 

I  have  but  little  sympathy  for  those  who 
know  their  duty,  and  do  not  do  it — little 
sympathy  for  those  who  cannot  accord 
respect  for  those  who  opened  their  hearts 
and  purses  to  keep  the  "wolf  from  their 
doors."  Yes,  I  would  have  cast  her 
adrift  in  the  world  to  have  got  her  living 
in  any  way  that  came  to  hand. 

There  was  to  be  a  masked  ball  in  the 
neighboring  town,  and  we  had  all  received 
invitations.  Everybody  knows  what  a  pe- 
culiar fascination  there  is  in  masked  balls, 
when  characters  of  every  age  and  clime 
are  seen  whirling  in  the  dance  in  a  gay, 
wild,  mad,  rollicking  gallop,  in  motley  con- 
fusion ;  where  fierce  looking  brigands  in 
black  velvet  caps  and  slashed  doublets 
make  love  to  fair,  stately  Greek  maidens, 
with  their  hair  twisted  in  classical  coils, 
looking  as  cold  and  pure  as  Northern 
snows  ;  and  princes  "  trip  the  light  fantas- 
tic toe  "  with  dark-browed  Italian  peasant 
girls,  arrayed  in  laced  velvet  bodices  and 
short  crimson  skirts,  and  forget  them- 
selves in  the  intoxicating  waltz. 

Our  father  thought — and  he  was  right — 


298  BRENDA    MERTON. 

such  things  dangerous  to  the  moraHty  and 
purity  of  fresh  young  girls  just  entering 
on  the  untried  paths  of  womanhood,  un- 
touched by  dissipation  of  any  kind. 

Such  things  dehghted  the  heart  of 
Brenda  Merton  more  than  anything  else 
in  the  world,  and  she  beoraed  hard  to  be 
allowed  to  go,  while  my  father  and  mother 
would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing.  As  for 
my  sister  and  myself,  we  had  no  desire  for 
anything  of  the  kind,  and  more  especially 
a  masked  ball  in  a  public  hall  where  a 
promiscuous  crowd  was  of  course  ex- 
pected. 

Yet  there  are  parents  who  blindly  and 
thoughtlessly  permit  their  pure,  innocent 
young  daughters,  whose  reputation  should 
be  guarded  as  a  pearl  of  priceless  value, 
to  attend  these  mixed  assemblages  with 
reckless,  unprincipled  young  men  who 
love  "women  and  wine;"  and  sometimes 
they  have  cause  to  regret  it. 

Brenda  Merton,  true  to  the  instincts  of 
her  childhood,  determined  on  a  plan  of 
escape  without  our  knowledge  at  the  time. 

I  must  mention    here,   that  my  mother 


BRENDA    MERTON.  299 

had  In  her  possession  an  old-fashioned,  val- 
uable necklace  composed  of  emeralds, 
and  it  had  a  peculiarly  devised  fastening. 
It  had  been  a  wedding  gift  from  my  father, 
and  was  highly  prized  on  that  account.  It 
lay  loosely  in  a  jewelry  casket,  with  many 
other  handsome  things,  in  the  top  drawer 
of  my  mother's  bureau. 

About  a  week  or  more  previous  to  the 
masked  ball,  the  necklace  had  disappeared. 
The  strictest  search  was  made,  and  the 
missing  necklace  was  the  topic  of  conver- 
sation for  several  days  ;  but  no  light  was 
thrown  on  the  subject.  The  house  ser- 
vants had  been  brought  up  under  my 
mother's  instructions,  and  were  regarded 
by  us  all  as  truthful  and  honest,  there  be- 
ing nothing  to  fix  the  theft  on  anyone  ;  so 
the  subject  of  the  missing  valuable  was 
dropped  for  a  time  to  be  revived  in  a  very 
peculiar  manner. 

But,  however,  all  in  good  time. 

I  think  I  had  commenced  to  tell  you  of 
the  way  Brenda  had  determined,  with 
all  her  love  of  adventure  and  mystery, 
to  find  her  way  to  the  masked  ball,  which 


300  BRENDA    MERTON. 

knowledge  we  became  possessed  of  subse- 
quently. 

She  frequently  walked  to  town  alone — 
it  was  not  much  o^er  a  mile — and  on  this 
occasion  she  went  several  times,  ostensi- 
bly to  attend  to  the  fitting  and  making  of 
a  handsome  new  dress  my  mother  had  but 
recently  given  her — sometimes  for  one 
thing,  sometimes  for  another :  now  to 
match  the  shade  of  a  ribbon,  about  which 
she  was  remarkably  fastidious,  again  to 
have  her  curls  newly  brushed,  or  for  a  late 
magazine  which  always  brought  her  pleas- 
ure. She  found  every  excuse  she  could 
for  making  frequent  visits  to  the  town, 
never  soliciting  company  on  her  self- 
appointed  excursions. 

Brenda  had  a  good  many  school  ac- 
quaintances in  the  town  who  professed  a 
world  of  devotion  for  her,  yet  they  usually 
belonged  to  that  type  of  young  ladies  de- 
nominated "fast  girls,"  which  is  certainly 
no  compliment  to  anyone.  With  her 
friends  she  frequently  spent  the  day,  and 
although  my  mother  did  not  at  all  ap- 
prove   of    the    intimacy,     it    seemed   im- 


BRENDA    MERTON.  3OI 

possible  to  find  any  means  of  prevent- 
ing it. 

All  the  time  she  was  preparing  her  cos- 
tume for  the  masked  ball  which  she  was 
bent  on  attending.  You  will  observe  that 
her  friends,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
were  not  very  punctilious  in  their  notions 
according  to  their  code  of  honor,  and  they 
thought  it  would  be  an  excellent  joke  to 
dance  at  the  bal  masque  without  my  pa- 
rent's knowledge. 

So,  thanks  to  the  indefatigable  labor  and 
energy  which  could  work  when  aroused, 
she  finished  her  masque  dress  in  time  and 
left  it  at  the  house  of  a  friend. 

I  learned  all  this  afterwards  from  one 
who  no  longer  cared,  now  that  the  denou- 
nieiit  was  over. 

The  evening  of  the  ball  I  remember 
perfectly  well.  A  warm,  bright,  sunshiny 
September  day  drew  to  a  close,  and  a 
chilly  wind  arose,  sweeping  the  faded  rose- 
leaves  from  the  bushes,  and  scattering 
them  across  the  lawn.  At  the  tea-table 
we  sat  and  conversed  pleasantly  of  the 
events  of  the  day.      My  father  had  been 


302  BRENDA    MERTON. 

all  day  superintending  the  gathering  of 
apples  for  winter  use.  It  had  been  a  fine 
year,  and  load  after  load  of  great,  mellow, 
shining,  rosy-cheeked  apples,  gave  one 
pleasant  visions  of  long  bright  winter  even- 
ings, when  comfortably  housed  from  the 
driving  snow  and  sleet,  w^e  would  draw 
nearer  to  the  great  wood  fires  that  blazed 
and  crackled  on  the  hearth,  sending  its  in- 
cense heavenward,  and  with  books  in  hand 
and  apples  and  nuts  within  reach,  we 
would  dream  away  the  long  winter  hours. 
My  mother  had  been  pickling  and  preserv- 
ing, for  which  she  was  famous.  My  sister 
Bertha  had  been  making  some  warm  flan- 
nel sacques  for  an  old  negro  woman  who 
had  onced  nursed  her,  but  now  was  help- 
less. We  had  all  been  both  pleasantly 
and  profitably  employed.  As  for  myself  I 
had  been  reading  all  day,  for  I  was  some- 
thing of  an  idle  dreamer,  and  oftened  lived 
in  a  world  of  my  own  imagination,  peo- 
pled with  exquisite  images  of  my  own 
fancying.  All  had  been  in  some  way  con- 
tentedly engaged  except  Brenda,  who  had 
seemed  moody  and  abstracted  all  the  day. 


BRENDA    MERTON.  303 

singing  fitful  snatches  of  old-time  melo- 
dies, and  going  from  one  thing  to  another, 
never  occupied  for  more  than  a  few  min- 
utes in  anything. 

At  table,  the  masque  ball  was  incident- 
ally spoken  of,  but  nothing  of  note  said 
about  it. 

After  tea  Bertha'  betook  herself  to  the 
sitting-room,  and,  comfortably  arrayed  in 
dressing-gown  and  slippers,  soon  lost  her- 
self in  the  pages  of  a  fascinating  book 
which  "Jim,"  our  little  black  mail-carrier, 
had  brought  out  from  town,  presented  by 
some  one  of  her  many  gentlemen  friends. 
Father  came  in  to  keep  her  company  and 
look  over  his  new  papers.  I  merely 
stopped  at  the  door  to  look  in  on  them 
so  cosily  seated  before  the  blazing  hearth, 
which  the  increasing  chilliness  of  the 
evening  rendered  quite  indispensable.  I 
was  on  my  way  to  my  mother's  room, 
where  she  had  asked  me  to  come  and 
assist  her  in  putting  away  some  clean 
ironed  clothes,  which  Hannah  had  depos- 
ited in  a  huge  flat  basket  just  as  the  bell 
announced  tea. 


304  BRENDA    MERTON. 

In  that  pleasant,  bright  room,  chatting 
with  my  mother  about  various  things,  Us- 
tening  to  the  story  of  her  success  in  her 
pickles,  preserves,  etc.,  I  never  once 
thought  of  Brenda  Merton,  who  had  gone 
to  her  own  room  immediately  after  sup- 
per and  locked  the  door,  declaring  she 
had  one  of  her  terrible  headaches,  after 
having  procured  from  my  mother  a  clean 
linen  bandage  with  hartshorn  and  cam- 
phor, tied  it  on  in  our  presence,  and  ex- 
cused herself  for  the  evening,  and  faithful 
Hannah  followed  her  to  her  room  with  a 
warm  foot-bath,  with  an  injunction  to  get 
into  bed  as  quickly  as  possible,  as  sleep 
was  the  most  effectual  mode  of  getting 
rid  of  a  nervous  headache. 

You  may  think  I  am  entering  too  largely 
into  particulars,  but  I  am  trying  faithfully 
to  recall  every  feature  of  that  particular 
evening.  I  am  not  drawing  on  the  imag- 
ination, but  painting  facts  from  real  life. 
Moreover,  I  am  trying  mainly  to  show 
you  the  depths  of  depravity  and  treachery 
that  this  girl's  nature  had  reached. 

The    evening     among     ourselves    had 


BRENOA    MERTON.  30  5 

passed  quietly  and  happily.  Brenda  had 
sent  down  word  by  Hannah  that  she  had 
felt  better  after  having  bathed  her  feet, 
and  that  she  felt  like  she  could  sleep,  and 
begged  that  she  might  not  be  disturbed. 
Hannah  had  undressed  her  and  seen  all 
preparations  made  for  retiring,  so  we  did 
not  disturb  her,  and  by  ten  o'clock  every- 
thing in  our  house  was  quiet  and  soon 
soundly  sleeping. 

I  think  it  was  between  one  and  two 
o'clock  that  I  awoke  with  the  most  terrific 
sounds  of  thunder  and  lightnings  that  I 
had  ever  heard  in  my  life.  The  oldest  in- 
habitants could  not  remember  to  have  wit- 
nessed anything  like  it.  The  rain  came 
down  in  torrents,  and  great  sheets  of  water 
covered  the  lawn  in  a  few  minutes.  I  lay 
aw^ake  a  long  time,  listening  to  the  storm 
and  the  tall  trees  swaying  in  the  Septem- 
ber blasts,  but  Bertha  slept  on,  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  fury  of  the  elements  that 
rocked  our  house  and  made  the  windows 
rattle. 

A  half  an  hour  later  its  fury  was  spent, 
and    a    regular    steady    rain    commenced 


306  BRENDA    MERTON. 

falling,  which  lasted  until  daylight.  While 
lying  there  in  the  silence  and  darkness  of 
the  night,  listening  to  the  ceaseless  patter 
of  the  rain,  it  may  have  been  fancy  or  not, 
but  I  distinctly  heard,  or  thought  I  heard, 
the  sound  of  voices  on  the  front  lawn,  the 
opening  and  shutting  of  gates,  and  then  I 
thought  I  heard  a  light  step  pass  my  door, 
and  then  all  was  still  again.  My  mother's 
room  was  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
mine  a  front  room  up-stairs.  I  arose 
softly  and  looked  out  of  the  front  window, 
where  the  servant  had  forgotten  to  close 
the  blinds,  but  could  see  nothing  but  the 
swaying  of  the  branches  of  the  old  apple 
tree,  as  anon  the  winds  bent  them  before 
my  window. 

I  went  back  to  bed  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes more  was  sound  asleep,  and  never 
woke  any  more  until  a  servant  came  in 
the  morning  and  announced  that  break- 
fast was  ready.  A  chilly  September  rain 
was  still  falling,  and  it  was  quite  cold  in- 
deed. I  had  a  confused  recollection  of 
the  occurrences  of  the  previous  night,  but 
now    I    could    not    tell    whether    I    had 


B  KEN  DA  MERTON.  30/ 

dreamed  it  or  not.  I  arose  hastily  and 
dressed  myself,  and  in  place  of  the  light 
muslin  that  I  had  worn  the  previous  even- 
ing, I  put  on  a  warm,  comfortable  blue 
cashmere. 

It  seems  that  my  sister  had  risen  early 
and  had  been  with  my  father  on  the  front 
piazza,  viewing  the  ravages  of  the  storm. 
They  both  greeted  me  with  a  pleasant 
''Good-morning!"  From  the  rosy  blush 
in  Bertha's  cheeks,  one  could  see  that  her 
slumbers  had  been  undisturbed. 

My  father  said  to  me  pleasantly : 

"  It  seems,  my  daughter,  you  are  not 
the  only  laggard  this  morning,"  as  we 
gathered  around  the  breakfast  table ; 
"  Brenda  has  not  yet  made  her  appear- 
ance." 

My  mother  explained  that  on  account 
of  the  headache  of  the  previous  evening 
she  had  directed  the  servants  not  to  waken 
her,  thinking,  perhaps,  she  may  have  lost 
some  rest  on  account  of  the  storm. 

"  I  knocked  lightly  at  her  door  as  I 
came  down,"  remarked  Bertha,  "but  she 
was  sleeping,  I  suppose,  and  I  came  away. 


308  BRENDA    MERTOX. 

Mamma,  don't  you  think  Hannah  had  better 
go  up  now  and  see  how  she  is,  and  we 
will  send  her  breakfast  to  her  room.  I  will 
arrange  a  tray  myself." 

Dear,  kind  sister !  always  so  thoughtful 
of  other  people's  comfort ! 

So  Bertha  busied  herself  in  spreading 
a  clean  white  napkin  on  a  small  breakfast 
waiter,  and  on  it  placed  a  tempting  break- 
fast for  an  invalid,  consisting  of  toast,  light 
waffles  and  biscuit,  and  a  bit  of  broiled 
ham,  and  a  cup  of  rich  yellow  coffee,  for 
Brenda  detested  tea  and  would  never 
drink  it  on  any  occasion.  On  a  small  ex- 
tra saucer  she  had  placed  an  additional 
lump  of  sugar,  and  directed  Hannah  to 
carry  it  to  Brenda's  room. 

In  a  few  minutes  that  faithful  domestic 
returned  with  an  appearance  of  the  great- 
est consternation,  and  sat  down  the  tray 
containing  the  breakfast  in  an  excited 
manner.     We  all  looked  inquiringly. 

"  O  mistress,"  began  Hannah,  ''  you  had 
better  go  to  Miss  Brenda's  room ;  she  is 
mighty  sick.  I  knocked  at  her  door,  but 
she   did   not   answer,    so  I  made  bold   to 


BRENDA    MERTON.  3O9 

open  it,  and  looked  in,  and  there  lay  Miss 
Brenda  on  the  bed  with  a  burning  hot 
fever,  throwing  her  arms  about  like  some- 
thing wild,  and  muttering  and  talking 
about  all  sorts  of  things  that  I  could  not 
understand  ;  and  the  room  is  all  tumbled 
up — you  just  never  saw  such  a  place  !" 

My  mother  arose  instantly,  and  I  fol- 
lowed her.  Sure  enough,  Hannah  had 
told  the  truth,  you  never  saw  such  a 
place  ;  and  Brenda  was  in  the  wildest  de- 
lirium, and  talking,  as  Hannah  had  said, 
about  things  we  did  not  understand  ;  but 
from  snatches  I  caught  the  words,  "  star  of 
evening,"  ''fifteenth  century,"  "Greek 
maiden,"  "  Captain  Stanford,"  while  she 
spoke  hurriedly  and  excitedly. 

It  all  flashed  over  me  in  a  moment : 
Brenda  had  stolen  away  and  been  to  the 
masque  ball,  and  returning  home  had 
been  caught  in  a  storm.  Her  headache 
had  all  been  a  sham,  and  gotten  up  for 
the  occasion  to  facilitate  her  flight.  And 
then  I  remembered  the  sound  of  the 
voices  on  the  front  lawn,  the  opening  and 
shutting  of  gates,  and  the  light  footsteps 


3IO  BRENDA    MERTOX. 

past  my  door,  and  I  knew  then  that  I  had 
not  been  dreaming.  As  if  in  confirmation 
of  my  surmises,  there  lay  her  gray  shawl 
with  its  crimson  border  on  a  chair  near 
by  the  bed,  hastily  thrown  down,  and  the 
water  was  dripping  to  the  floor,  and  stood 
in  pools  by  her  bed  ;  her  light  kid  walking 
boots  were  soaked  through  and  through, 
and  there  was  mud  on  her  wet,  draggled 
skirts. 

It  seemed  she  had  barely  presence 
enough  of  mind  to  get  herself  undressed 
and  in  bed,  without  trying  to  remove  the 
traces  of  her  indiscretion.  Her  midnight 
soaking  had  given  her  an  intense  cold, 
and  made  her  quite  hoarse,  which  by 
morning  had  resulted  in  a  burning  fever, 
while  she  murmured  on  incoherently  about 
the  ball,  and  the  long  walk  home,  and  the 
storm  that  had  overtaken  them  in  the 
woods. 

My  father  promptly  dispatched  "Jim" 
for  a  physician,  and  he  soon  arrived  and 
gave  her  an  opiate  which  caused  her  to 
fall  into  a  deep  sound  slumber. 

It  was  weeks  before  she  was  well  again, 


BRENDA    MERTON.  3  I  I 

and  then  it  all  came  out:  the  frequent 
visits  to  town  to  get  up  her  ball  costume, 
which  was  done  at  the  house  of  a  friend  ; 
she  had  worn  a  crimson  silk  skirt  as  a 
*' peasant  girl,"  with  black  velvet  boddice, 
laced  front  and  back,  and  thickly  studded 
with  silver  stars ;  the  skirt  just  reached  to 
her  knees,  with  full  trowsers  of  silk,  silken 
hose,  and  white  satin  slippers  with  crim- 
son rosettes  ;  her  long  wavy  hair  floating 
loosely  over  her  shoulders  from  her  small 
velvet  cap,  encircled  by  its  wreath  of  sil- 
ver stars,  and  a  long  black  feather  grace- 
fully drooping  on  one  side.  I  should  like 
to  have  seen  her,  for  I  know  she  enjoyed 
it;  for  if  there  was  one  thing  in  the  world 
she  dearly  enjoyed,  it  was  to  create  a  sen- 
sation and  be  admired  by  gentlemen. 
Such  amusements  suited  her  craving,  pas- 
sionate nature,  but  the  penalty  she  paid 
was  a  dear  one. 

I  think  the  only  thing  that  made  my 
mother  less  harsh  in  her  rebukes,  was 
that  in  her  wild  words  of  delirium,  there 
seemed  to  be  an  under  current  which 
showed  that  she  felt  badly  about  running 


312  BRENDA    MERTOX. 

away  and  deceiving  my  mother.  She 
seemed  to  have  done  something  which 
she  was  sorry  for,  but  we  could  not  make 
out  what  it  was.  We  only  caught  the 
words,  "I  wish  she  could  get  it  back." 
What  ?  We  all  asked,  but  there  the  mat- 
ter dropped,  and  she  was  soon  talking 
about  something  else. 

It  appears  that  Captain  Stanford  was 
one  of  the  young  gentlemen  who  helped 
to  get  up  the  ball,  and  that  he  knew  my 
father,  and  held  him  in  great  respect.  He 
also  knew  Miss  Merton  by  sight,  and  was 
surprised  to  see  her  there  without  any 
chaperone ;  and  when  the  ball  began  to 
break  up  he  saw  a  notoriously  w^orthless 
young  man  making  his  way  towards  her 
with  the  purpose  of  escorting  her  home. 
Captain  Stanford  had  heard  among  the 
young  men  that  Miss  Merton  had  left 
home  without  the  knowledge  of  her 
friends,  and  felt  some  compassion  for  the 
wayward  girl,  and  he  did  not  think  it  safe 
for  her  to  take  the  long  lonely  walk 
through  the  wood  with  such  a  reckless 
man.     So  he  had  begged  some  one  to  in- 


BRENDA    MERTON.  313 

introduce  him,  and  he.  Captain  Stanford, 
had  insisted  on  accompanying  her  home ; 
and  it  seems  that  on  the  way  he  had  read 
the  wayward  girl  a  pretty  severe  lecture 
on  her  imprudence  in  coming  from  home 
that  way.  Through  respect  for  my  father 
and  pity  for  her  youth  and  inexperience, 
he  had  brought  her  home  and  been  over- 
taken by  the  storm  in  the  wood. 

The  escapade  created  some  little  excite- 
ment in  the  town  and  neighborhood,  and 
fast  young  men  of  loose  morals  swore  she 
was  ''game  to  the  last." 

Finally  the  affair  died  out  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  was  set  down  as  the  result 
of  inexperienced  youth,  and  a  wild  girl's 
giddy  thoughtlessness. 

My  parents  lectured  her  more  severely 
than  they  had  ever  done  before,  and  for 
the  future  she  promised  to  do  better.  I 
think  she  really  did  feel  some  qualms  of 
conscience  when  she  saw  how  much  my 
father  and  mother  were  grieved,  but  it 
was  destined  to  be  of  short  duration. 
You  could  see  the  tainted  blood  that  ran 
through  her  veins  showing  itself  in  all  she 
o 


314  BRENDA    MERTON. 

said  and  did,  not  being  much  improved  by 
cultivation  or  association. 

One  thing  touched  me.  Once,  during 
Brenda's  confinement  to  her  sick  bed,  my 
mother  called  my  sister  and  myself  to  her 
and  put  her  arms  around  us  both  and  lay- 
ing her  head  on  my  shoulder,  wept  softly. 
Bertha,  in  great  distress,  inquired  the 
cause,  and  my  mother  replied : 

'' O  my  daughters!  but  for  the  great 
mercy  of  God,  it  might  have  been  one  of 
you  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  shame  and 
honor  !  I  am  blessed,  indeed,  in  my  own 
dear  daughters ;  for  you  never  disobey 
me,  never  grieve  and  distress  me  by  your 
waywardness,  as  this  poor  unfortunate 
child  has  done." 

We  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  resolved 
that  we  would  always  be  true  to  ourselves 
and  never  betray  the  kind  affection  that 
always  had  encircled  us. 

After  my  parents  had  pointed  out  to 
her  and  showed  her  the  consequences  of 
her  folly  and  imprudence,  and  she  had 
promised  never  again  to  offend,  they 
never   again   alluded    to    the    affair,    and 


BRENDA    MERTON.  315 

made  a  point  of  not  permitting  any  mem- 
ber of  our  household  to  speak  on  the 
subject ;  but  the  repentance  was  destined 
to  be  of  brief  duration.  In  fact,  Brenda 
was  only  waiting  for  the  next  opportunity, 
when  she  would  again  prove  how  she  pos- 
sessed the  wisdom  and  cunning  of  a  ser- 
pent, perhaps,  with  more  of  subtlety  than 
wisdom,  more  of  recklessness  than  judg- 
ment. 

My  sister  Bertha  was  considered  ex- 
quisitely beautiful,  with  her  deep  blue 
eyes  and  golden  hair,  and  pale,  pure  loveli- 
ness, which  won  all  hearts  ;  yet  she  was 
not  devoid  of  spirit  or  animation  ;  only 
she  waited  to  be  sought,  never  obtruding 
herself  on  the  notice  of  others. 

My  sister,  during  a  recent  visit  to  a 
neighboring  city,  had  met  a  young  gentle- 
man who  had  fallen  deeply  in  love  with 
her,  Gerald  Whitworth  by  name.  He  was 
the  son  of  a  wealthy  banker,  and  also  a 
young  lawyer  of  brilliant  promise.  Be 
that  neither  here  nor  there.  My  sister 
returned  his  love,  and  never  thought  of 
the  many   thousands  that  report   said  he 


3l6  BREXDA    MERTOX. 

would  heir.  She  loved  him  for  himself 
alone,  and  he  adored  her.  He  was  com- 
ing in  our  neighborhood  to  spend  a  month, 
being  almost  exhausted  by  excessive  hard 
work  at  the  bar.  My  father  knew  his 
family  well,  so  no  objections  were  offered 
to  the  engagement.  When  it  became 
known  to  Brenda  Merton,  she  offered  her 
congratulations  with  a  beaming  smile,  but 
inwardly  resolved  to  win  him  for  herself. 
He  was  just  the  style  of  young  gentleman 
she  most  admired,  being  tall  and  com- 
manding in  person,  with  splendid  form, 
a  high,  broad  brow,  shaded  by  masses  of 
heavy  brown  hair,  and  deep  hazel  eyes 
that  could  look  unutterable  things  when 
their  owner  choose.  He  had  also  a  perfect 
passion  for  music,  and  he  played  and  sang 
finely.  Added  to  all  these  outward  per- 
sonal attractions,  he  possessed  the  key 
that  unlocks  the  fairy  portals  of  society, 
namely,  a  splendid  position  and  great 
wealth. 

Brenda  thought  it  would  be  an  excel- 
lent joke  for  her,  the  child  of  poverty  and 
low  birth,  to   win   from   his  allegiance  the 


BRENDA  MERTON.  31/ 

handsome,  gracious  lover  of  my  sister ; 
for  Brenda  had  learned  long  ere  this  of 
her  obscure  parentage.  Just  as  Mrs.  Wil- 
mot,  who  now  slept  in  her  grave,  had  pre- 
dicted, when  in  ruffled  dresses  and  linen 
aprons,  the  school  children  she  treated  so 
disdainfully,  gathered  together  to  partake 
of  their  dinners,  and  she  had  ground  her 
teeth  in  rage,  and  sparks  of  anger  and 
passion  flashed  from  her  black  eyes,  while 
Bertha — dear  sister ! — had  said  : 

"  For  shame  girls  !  how  could  you  talk 
so  to  an  orphaned  child  ?  My  mother 
would  be  so  much  grieved  if  she  could 
hear  you." 

To  which  they  replied  : 

''  Well,  then,  let  her  learn  to  know  her 
place  and  not  take  on  so  many  airs  over  us. 
I  would  like  to  know  what  would  have 
become  of  her  if  your  father  and  mother 
had  not  picked  her  up  and  put  a  shelter 
over  her  head  and  clothed  and  fed  her? 
If  my  father  had  died  in  a  drunken  fit, 
I  would  lie  low  and  keep  silent." 

And  with  this  sarcastic,  parting-fling,  the 
school   girls,  who  had   finished   their  din- 


3l8  BRENDA    MERTOX. 

ners,  went  to  their  respective  play-houses, 
feehng  rejoiced  that  they  had  been  able 
to  ''put  down  that  proud,  stuck-up  Brenda 
Merton." 

I  had  been  an  amused  auditor  of  the 
conversation,  and  we  all  know  that  school 
girls  will  say  spiteful  things  when  they 
become  offended  at  one  another ;  and  if 
anyone's  grand-father,  or  uncle,  or  any 
other  relative  has  been  so  indiscreet  as  to 
have  committed  an  error  at  any  period  of 
their  lives,  these  same  prowling  birds  of 
prey  swooped  down  on  the  unfortunate 
living  descendants,  and  held  up  for  inspec- 
tion the  crimes  and  sins  of  their  ancestors. 

Old  Mrs.  Wilmot — at  rest  with  the 
world — was  right.  Her  predictions  in  re- 
gard to  the  unfortunate  orphan  had  been 
verified  to  the  letter  ;  and  now,  how  many 
times  the  conversation  floated  back,  when 
I  saw  the  traits  of  character  which  she  had 
declared  to  my  mother  on  that  summer 
afternoon  undeveloped,  coming  to  the  sur- 
face. My  old  dislike  and  distrust  had 
never  been  conquered,  and  every  subse- 
quent event  helped  to  strengthen  my  aver- 


BRENDA    MERTON.  3I9 

sion.  1  can  call  it  by  no  other  name. 
And  to  live  in  a  house,  and  be  forced 
daily  to  associate  and  come  in  contact 
with  a  person  in  whom  you  can  place  no 
reliance,  and  in  whose  honor  or  integrity 
you  can  have  no  faith,  is  anything  but  pleas- 
ant. And  yet  it  was  so  in  this  instance  : 
and  for  my  mother's  sake  I  would  have 
conquered  my  aversion,  if  I  could. 

My  mother's  cup  of  bitterness  was  full, 
and  it  needed  but  one  more  drop  to  run  it 
over — to  cast  Brenda  Merton  into  the 
world  adrift  as  penniless  as  when  she 
came ;  it  required  but  one  -more  drop 
to  forever  forfeit  that  love  and  esteem 
that  had  sheltered  and  upheld  her  ever 
since  the  day  she  had  wonderingly  fol- 
lowed her  mother's  coffined  body  to  its 
last  resting  place,  and  came  to  the  kind, 
pleasant  home  of  her  mother's  benefac- 
tress. 

The  crowning  act  of  villainy  was  yet  to 
be  developed,  and  in  a  most  singular  way. 

As  I  have  said,  Brenda  Merton  resolved 
to  win  the  heart  of  my  sister's  lover,  and 
formed  deep  laid    plots    for  its  execution, 


320  BRENDA    MERTON. 

which  came  pretty  near  being  successful. 
With  her  poisonous  tongue  she  whispered 
tales  in  his  ears  of  Bertha  being  betrothed 
to  another,  and  told  him  that  the  time  for 
marriage  had  already  been  appointed,  and 
that  my  dear,  innocent,  guileless-minded 
sister  was  guilty  of  duplicity  in  being  en- 
gaged to  another  while  encouraging  his 
attentions. 

Gerald  Whitworth  had  come  to  the  town 
near  which  we  lived,  had  taken  rooms  at 
the  hotel,  and  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  our 
house.  My  parents  had  known  his  a  long 
time  ago,  and  also  knew  that  no  family 
had  a  fairer  record  than  that  of  Gerald 
Whitworth,  and  therefore  they  had  wel- 
comed him  in  our  family  wnth  much  cor- 
diality. I  know  they  felt  pleased  with 
their  daughter's  prospects,  for  the  young 
man  was  in  every  way  worthy. 

He  made  himself  perfectly  at  home  in 
our  house,  and  came  just  whenever  he 
felt  like  it — either  morning  or  evening — 
and  was  a  member  of  our  party  at  all  the 
picnics,  parties,  and  dances  held  in  the 
neighborhood. 


BRENDA    MERTON.  321 

1  could  see  the  envious  eyes  of  Brenda 
Merton  often  fixed  upon  him  with  a  look  I 
could  not  understand  then,  but  did  after- 
wards. She  naturally  fell  into  the  habit 
of  asking  him  to  accompany  her  in  her 
songs  at  the  piano,  for  she  had  a  brilliant 
touch  and  a  superb  voice,  and  her  brown 
tapering  fingers  swept  the  pearl  keys 
as  easily  and  gracefully  as  a  bird  skims 
the  air.  She  had  cultivated  her  voice,  and 
sang  her  songs  with  feeling  and  pathos. 
After  a  time  Brenda  monopolized  him  en- 
tirely, and  left  my  sister  to  console  herself 
as  best  she  could.  Whenever  we  formed  a 
party  consisting  of  young  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen from  the  neighborhood,  which 
often  met  at  our  house,  with  packed  lunch 
baskets  and  high  humor,  preparatory  to 
starting  for  some  point  for  a  day's  ramble 
in  the  woods,  Brenda  Merton  always  came 
forth  a  brilliant  gipsy  in  her  showy  attire, 
and  managed,  or,  I  should  say,  maneu- 
vered for  a  place  by  Gerald  Whitworth's 
side,  amusing  him  by  her  quaint,  odd  say- 
ings and  sarcastic  flings  at  people  and  so- 
ciety.    You    may    say  what    you    please 


322  BRENDA    MERTON. 

about  th-e  "refreshing  innocence"  of  young, 
guileless  girls,  but  when  a  brilliant  woman 
of  the  world,  gifted  with  wit,  style  and 
beauty,  sets  her  snares  to  entrap  and 
please  they  are  very  apt  to  accomplish 
what  they  undertake,  at  least  for  the  time 
being.  So  it  was  in  this  instance  when 
the  crash  came. 

Gerald  Whitworth  seemed  for  a  time 
changed  by  the  smiles  of  his  ensnarer, 
but  I  do  not  think  his  heart  ever  really 
wandered  away  from  its  allegiance. 
Brenda  would  look  up  into  his  face  with 
what  he  thought  a  pretty,  piquant  look, 
but  to  me,  who  adored  my  sister,  seemed 
disgusting ;  and  Bertha  seemed  in  a  fair 
way  of  loosing  her  lover,  which  cut  her 
keenly.  She  drooped,  and  v/ent  listlessly 
about  the  house  for  several  days,  taking 
no  interest  in  anything,  having  lost  all 
taste  for  her  old  pursuits,  while  I  knew 
what  was  the  matter  and  hated  Brenda 
Merton  accordingly.  Often  when  the 
sound  of  Gerald  Whitworth's  voice  min- 
gled with  Brenda's  in  the  summer  night, 
the  passionate  refrain    of  which  was,  ''  O 


BRENDA    MERTON.  323 

dear  Love,  my  heart  is  breaking,"  I  have 
seen  my  sister's  cheek  flush,  and  then 
grow  suddenly  pale.  Yet  I  do  not  think 
that  Gerald  Whitworth  ever  told  her, 
Brenda  Merton,  that  he  loved  her.  He 
was  only  fascinated  by  the  arts  which  she 
had  used  to  ensnare  him  ;  perhaps  both 
pleased  and  amused  at  the  time.  Who 
knows  where  they  might  have  drifted  had 
not  an  unfortunate  eclaircissement  taken 
place.     But  all  in  good  time. 

At  any  rate  my  sister  Bertha  was  very 
unhappy  and  quite  unlike  her  former  self, 
although  she  continued  to  treat  Brenda 
with  unabated  kindness. 

One  day  a  merry  party  of  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen  had  assembled  at  our 
house,  which  had  been  selected  as  a  ren- 
dezvous for  them  all  to  meet,  preparatory 
to  starting  to  Stony  Point,  a  wooded  em- 
inence a  mile  or  two  from  our  house.  All 
had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  the  fine  sun- 
sets and  the  cloud-mists  which  made  the 
spot  a  favorite  with  everybody.  Our 
luncheon  baskets  were  packed  full  of 
cold    chicken,    boiled    ham,    jellies,    light 


324  BREXDA    MERTON. 

rolls,  pickles  and  preserves,  and  cakes  of 
every  shape  and  description.  A  merry 
party  we  were,  and  anticipated  a  gay  time. 
We  were  just  on  the  eve  of  starting  when 
lo  and  behold  !  the  sky  was  suddenly  cov- 
ered with  black  clouds,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes more  the  rain  came  pouring  down  ; 
and  that  was  an  end  to  our  proposed 
excursion,  which  did  not  cause  much  dis- 
may among  the  merry  party  that  decided 
to  spend  the  day  at  our  house,  instead  of 
picnicing  and  dining,  al  fresco,  at  Stony 
Point  as  was  proposed.  So  we  consoled 
ourselves,  and  made  merry  indoors,  and 
danced  on  the  parlor  carpet  to  music  ren- 
dered from  one  of  Chickering's  best,  and 
took  our  dinners  in  my  mother's  dining- 
room,  where  she  had  made  an  addition  to 
our  dessert  in  the  way  of  delicious  ice- 
cream. We  had  a  delightful  day  after  all, 
only  my  sister  suffered  intensely  from 
heart-ache,  which  she  tried  hard  to  con- 
ceal, returning  a  pleasant  word  and  smile 
to  all  who  spoke  to  her. 

Brenda,  who   fancied    she  had  won  the 
golden  prize,  continued  to  monopolize  the 


BRENDA    MERTON.  325 

greater  part  of  Gerald  Whitworth's  atten- 
tions ;  yet  I  do  not  see  how  he  could  have 
helped  it  without  positive  rudeness.  He 
made  some  faint  efforts  at  politeness,  but 
Bertha  was  slow  to  accept  the  homage  so 
ungraciously  offered.  She  was  content  to 
let  things  take  their  own  course,  and  await 
the  result. 

The  young  people  had  danced,  told  sto- 
ries, played  cards,  and  made  themselves 
generally  merry,  and  had  thrown  off  all 
reserve.  What  else  could  they  do,  shut 
up  in  a  country  house  on  a  wet,  rainy  day  ? 

It  had  rained  steadily  since  morning, 
and  towards  ev^ening  the  sky*  grew  black, 
and  our  guests  were  prisoners  for  the 
night,  to  which  no  one  objected. 

After  tea  we  had  all  assembled  in  the 
parlor,  including  my  father  and  mother, 
who  enjoyed  our  amusements  as  much  as 
ourselves.  Some  one  of  the  merry  party, 
bent  on  having  fun  and  a  good  time,  pro- 
posed a  regular,  old-fashioned  game  of 
"blindfold,"  and  soon  we  were  romping 
and  dodging  and  bumping  our  heads 
against  the  walls  for  all  the  world  like  a 


326  BRENDA    MERTON. 

parcel  of  children  wild  with  delight.  The 
servants  thought  it  ''mighty  funny,"  so 
they  said,  and  their  black  faces  grinned  at 
us  from  the  back  piazza. 

At  last  it  was  Gerald  ^hitworth's  time 
to  be  blindfolded,  to  which  he  submitted 
with  a  good  deal  of  laughter  and  gay  ban- 
tering, and  then  the  sport  commenced 
again  in  good  earnest.  He  was  groping 
his  way  in  the  corner,  for  I  think  he  inhaled 
the  perfume  of  Brenda  Merton's  handker- 
chief— her  favorite  heliotrope — and  heard 
the  swish  of  her  sweeping  train  of  crimson 
silk  skirts  as  she  glided  in  the  corner  and 
noiselessly  stood,  scarce  daring  to  breathe, 
and  he  stumbled  over  an  ottoman  and  fell 
almost  at  her  feet.  He  was  so  close  he 
might  have  heard  her  heart  as  it  beat  in 
its  passionate  throbs  of  love  beneath  her 
silken  bodice  with  its  black  lace  bertha, 
which  became  her  marvelously  well,  where 
on  it  glowed  a  single  crimson  rose,  while 
an  exquisite  cluster  of  creamy  buds 
bloomed  on  the  waves  of  her  heavy  black 
hair. 

In    stumbling,    Gerald    Whitworth    let 


BRENDA    MERTON.  32/ 

fall  out  of  his  pocket  a  small  silver  box, 
which,  as  it  struck  the  surface  of  the 
floor,  flew  open  and  out  of  it  rolled  an 
old-fashioned  necklace  of  emeralds,  costly 
as  to  price,  and  odd-looking  in  its  uniquely 
fashioned  clasp.  There  was  but  one  other 
in  the  world  like  it,  and  that  had  been  my 
mother's. 

Gerald  Whitworth  removed  the  band- 
age from  his  eyes  as  he  arose  from  the 
floor,  v/ith  a  most  comical  look,  while  my 
father  at  the  same  time  stooped  and  re- 
stored the  necklace  and  silver  box,  re- 
marking as  he  did  so : 

*'  Mr.  Whitworth,  will  you  tell  me  where 
you  obtained  this  ornament?  I  have 
never  seen  but  one  like  it,  and  that  one 
was  a  wedding  gift  from  myself  to  my 
wife." 

Mr.  Whitworth  replied : 

''With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,  sir. 
'Thereby  hangs  a  tale.'  Perhaps  you 
may  be  able  to  throw  additional  light  on  a 
mystery  which  has  puzzled  me;"  and  he 
threw  an  amused,  questioning  look  around 
the  room. 


328  BREXDA    MERTON. 

"  Permit  me  to  examine  this  one  mo- 
ment," said  my  father. 

*'With  pleasure,"  again  returned  the 
gentleman,  at  the  same  time  handing  back 
the  necklace. 

'*  One  moment  will  suffice,"  said  my  fa- 
ther, at  the  same  time  touching  a  secret 
spring,  and  disclosing  to  view  the  initials, 
''E.  M.,"  murmuring  to  himself — I  caught 
the  words — ''I  thought  I  could  not  be 
mistaken.     It  is  the  same." 

By  this  time  the  whole  gay  company 
had  crowded  around  to  hear  the  story  of 
the  emerald  necklace.  Brenda  Merton 
leaned  back  against  the  wall  with  glitter- 
ing eyes  and  cheeks  flushed  crimson  be- 
neath her  olive  skin.  I  think  she  saw  that 
fate  had  overtaken  her  at  last,  and  she 
was  beginning  to  be  caught  in  her  own 
toils ;  while  to  myself  I  kept  ever  repeat- 
ing the  following  lines : 

"Thy  race  is  run,  tliy  fate  is  sealed: 

Trust  not  the  ties  which  bound  thee, 
For  a  thousand  snares,  still  unrevealed, 
Are  woven  close  around  thee." 

If  the  girl   had   only   known  what  was 


BRENDA    MERTON.  329 

coming,  I  think  she  would  willingly  have 
plunged  a  poisoned  stiletto  to  her  heart. 

My  mother  came  and  leaned  on  my  fa- 
ther's chair,  with  a  shade  of  interest,  but 
I  do  not  think  anyone  in  that  room  had 
any  idea  of  what  was  coming  but  myself. 
I  was  watching  Brenda  Merton  keenly, 
and  seeing  how  excited  she  was,  and  how 
the  slender  brown  hands  trembled  as  she 
strove  to  control  herself,  I  knew  she,  in 
some  manner,  was  connected  with  the 
missing  necklace. 

And  then  Mr.  Whitworth  began,  as 
he  saw  how  eager  and  curious  the  com- 
pany had  become. 

''  This  necklace  has  been  in  my  posses- 
sion for  some  months,  and  I  carry  it 
around  with  me  everywhere,  thinking  I 
may  some  day  be  so  fortunate  as  to  find 
the  rightful  owner,  as  I  obtained  it  in 
rather  a  curious  way.  I  was  convinced 
the  moment  I  rested  my  eyes  on  it  that  it 
was  an  heirloom  in  some  family,  from  its 
antique  clasp.  Last  summer  my  mother 
hired  a  new  servant  in  her  dining-room 
who  was  extremely  fanciful  in  her  dress, 
o* 


330  BRENDA    MERTON. 

and  appeared  to  spend,  all  her  earnings  in 
that  way.  She  vied  with  the  fashionable 
ladies,  who  visited  at  our  house,  in  the 
matter  of  personal  adornments,  ruffles, 
bows  of  ribbon  and  ear-rings. 

*'  Well,  one  day  we  had  company  to 
dine,  and  my  mother's  new  servant, 
thinking,  no  doubt,  she  would  make 
herself  smarter  than  usual  in  honor  of  the 
state  occasion,  came  into  the  dining- 
room  to  attend  at  table,  with  this  identi- 
cal necklace  on.  I  am  something  of 
a  connoisseur  in  such  things,  and  dis- 
covered at  a  glance  that  the  necklace  was 
both  costly  and  valuable,  and  must  have 
once  rightly  belonged  to  some  one  in  the 
higher  ranks  of  life.  So  I  spoke  to  my 
mother  about  it,  and  she  had  observed 
it,  too,  as  she  was  au  fait  to  everything 
connected  with  the  personal  adornments 
of  fashionable  society,  and  could  deter- 
mine whether  a  piece  of  lace  was  real 
or  imitation  all  the  way  across  the  room. 
We  agreed  to  call  the  girl  into  private  con- 
ference, after  our  visitors  had  left  the  house, 
and  question  her  about  it.    We  did  so,  and 


BRENDA  MERTON.  33  I 

asked  her  where  and  how  she  had  obtained 
the  necklace,  evidently  so  valuable,  and 
from  her  we  obtained  the  following,  which, 
for  your  benefit,  I  will  repeat  word  for 
word  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember : 

''  '  I  know  you  wonder  how  I  got  this 
costly  thing,  and,  may  be,  you  think  I  stole 
it.  But  you  are  mistaken  ;  I  never  stole 
it.  I  got  it  from  a  young  lady  down  in 
the  country  where  my  mother  lives.' " 

Here  I  glanced  at  Brenda  Merton,  who 
was  gradually  growing  paler  and  paler, 
and  the  hand  that  tried  to  toy  indifferently 
with  the  gilded  leaves  of  a  superb  annual 
on  a  table  near  by,  trembled  perceptibly, 
while  her  breath  came  hard  and  short. 
My  mother  was  gazing  straight  at  Mr. 
Whitworth  with  a  fixed  look  of  determina- 
tion I  had  never  before  seen.  My  father 
and  all  the  rest  of  them  were  listening 
with  intense  interest.  Mr.  Whitworth 
continued  to  repeat  what  the  servant,  in 
substance,  had  said  to  him. 

*'  *  The  young  lady  came  to  my  mother's 
cabin  one  hot  day,  said  she  had  walked 
two  miles,  and  came  and  offered  to  sell  me 


332  BRENDA    MERTON. 

the  necklace  for  five  dollars.  She  said 
she  wanted  to  go  to  a  masque  party,  and 
her  friends,  where  she  was  staying,  said 
she  must  not  go  ;  but  she  was  bent  on 
going  anyhow,  but  she  did  not  have  the 
money  to  buy  a  heap  of  little  fixin's  that 
she  wanted,  and  she  hated  to  ask  for  it  at 
that  time.  I  gave  her  my  five  dollars — 
all  the  money  I  had  in  the  world ;  I  re- 
member it  took  a  long  time  to  count  it 
out,  for  it  was  all  in  little  pieces.  I  had 
done  many  an  odd  job  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  saved  all  my  ''  chicken  money," 
but  it  all  went  for  the  necklace.  And  this 
is  the  truth,  sir,  every  word  of  it.'  " 

*' I  asked  her,"  continued  Mr.  Whit- 
worth,  "  if  she  would  take  a  ten  dollar  bill 
for  it,  and  the  girl  seemed  highly  delighted 
with  the  idea ;  so  I  paid  her  the  money 
and  took  possession  of  the  necklace  ;  and 
I  am  very  happy,  indeed,  to  have  been 
able  to  restore  it  to  its  rightful  owner,  for 
I  had  all  the  time  a  suspicion  that  the  girl 
who  had  parted  with  as  valuable  neck- 
lace as  that,  had  not  come  honestly  by  it." 


BRENDA    MERTON.  333 

And  with  a  profound  obeisance  to  the 
company,  he  concluded  his  story  by  saying : 

''  I  esteem  myself  highly  fortunate  in 
having  helped  to  amuse  you  all  this  rainy 
evening  by  this  'o'er  true  tale,'  and  now, 
as  you  have  again  come  in  possession  of 
your  property,  I  am  consumed  with  curi- 
osity to  know  if  you  have  any  idea  who 
the  delinquent  young  lady  is  who  was 
so  much  enraptured  with  the  idea  of 
attending  a  da/  masqtie,  that  she  could 
wantonly  part  with  a  valuable  necklace 
for  the  paltry  sum  of  five  dollars  ?" 

I  was  watching  Brenda  Merton  keenly 
as  he  spoke.  There  was  a  look  of  being 
hunted  down  to  death  by  fate  in  her  black 
eyes  which  blazed  like  coals  of  living  fire 
in  the  dusky  shadows  where  she  stood.  I 
saw  that  she  was  waiting  breathlessly  for  my 
father's  answer ;  saw,  too,  that  my  mother 
looked  mercifully  in  another  direction  : 
also,  that  my  dear,  unsuspecting  sister  had 
not  thought  of  Brenda  Merton  in  con- 
nection with  the  story.  I  alone  of  all  that 
company  had  had  a  correct  suspicion  from 
the  beginning  of  who  the  real  delinquent 


334  BRENDA    MERTON. 

was.  And  the  prophetic  words  of  old  Mrs. 
Wilmot  rang  in  my  ears,  now  too  sadly 
verified:  ''Her  father  was  a  thief  before 
her;  can  you  expect  anything  better?" 

The  company  was  waiting  in  breathless 
silence  for  my  father's  answer.  A  hush 
seemed  to  have  fallen  over  them  all,  and 
still  they  waited.  The  answer  came  at 
last  in  slow,  measured  accents  : 

"  You  ask  me  who  stole  the  necklace, 
and  sold  it  so  clandestinely,  and  I  shall 
tell  you.    Brenda  Merton  is  the  culprit." 

There  was  a  low  moan  from  the  corner 
where  she  stood,  and  she  fell  helplessly 
forward,  prostrate  on  the  floor,  with  her 
face  hidden  from  sight.  The  great  crim- 
son rose  that  had  glowed  on  the  black  lace 
of  her  bertha  was  crushed  to  pieces,  and 
its  delicate  petals  scattered  on  the  floor. 
She,  too,  was  crushed — utterly  humiliated 
— with  the  shock  that  had  fallen  so  unsus- 
pectedly  upon  her  like  the  thunder  that 
comes  from  a  cloudless  sky.  Fifteen  min- 
utes before  she  was  serene  and  smiling  in 
conscious  power  of  her  gorgeous  beauty, 
triumphing  in  haughty  insolence  over  her 


BRENDA    MERTON.  335 

deposed  rival,  and  feeling  secure  in  the 
unspoken  love  and  admiration  of  Gerald 
Whitworth;  for  however  much  this  bril- 
liant beauty  may  have  charmed  him  for 
the  time,  it  appears  that  no  word  of  love 
had  passed  between  them,  save  the  frivo- 
lous "  small  talk  "  so  profusely  indulged  in 
by  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  society, 
who  feel  privileged  to  indulge  in  "  tender 
friendships,"  or  ''summer flirtations, "which 
after  they  have  been  carried  to  a  certain 
point  cease,  sometimes — not  always,  how- 
ever— leaving  one  or  the  other  of  them 
cold  and  callous  ;  and  then,  burying  the 
old  love  born  of  an  idle  fancy,  but  never- 
theless sweet,  they  cast  themselves  about, 
and  in  marrying  have  an  eye  only  for 
worldly  advantages,  and  sacrifice  them- 
selves for  money. 

As  for  myself,  I  felt  no  pity  for  Brenda 
Merton,  although  I  knew  she  suffered 
keenly.  The  taint  in  her  blood  had 
showed  itself  on  divers  occasions.  Why 
should  I  have  been  sorry  for  her  ?  unless, 
perchance,  a  species  of  pity  born  of  con- 
tempt that  human  nature  had  fallen  so  low. 


33^  BRENDA  MERTON. 

The  love  and  confidence  between  Bertha 
and  her  lover  was  restored,  and  they  after- 
wards were  happily  married,  loving  each 
other  perhaps  all  the  better  for  the  slight 
shadow  that  had  temporarily  fallen  be- 
tween them. 

Three  days  after  this  humiliating  scene 
jn  the  parlor,  and  the  unforeseen  recovery 
of  the  stolen  necklace,  Brenda  Merton, 
with  all  her  effects  packed  in  her  large 
trunk,  which  had  for  several  years  been 
her  property,  was  set  down  at  the  front 
door  of  a  small  dress-making  establish- 
ment in  the  neighboring  town,  a  sadder  if 
not  a  wiser  woman,  forced  by  her  own  rep- 
rehensible conduct  to  earn  her  own  daily 
bread  by  the  strength  that  lay  in  her  right 
arm.  She  carried  with  her  her  own  per- 
sonal effects,  the  books  and  clothing  given 
her  so  ungrudgingly  by  her  benefactress, 
and  a  few  dollars  in  money  which  my  fa- 
ther had,  with  characteristic  kindness,  given 
her,  not  caring  to  see  her  launched  en- 
tirely penniless  among  those  who  could 
possibly  have  no  sympathy  for  her.  My 
father  and    mother  counseled  her  to  im- 


HRHNDA    MEKTON.  SS7 

\n-ovc  in  the  future,  yet  they  could  not  for- 
o-ive  her  sufficiently  to  allow  her  to  remain 
at  home  among  their  own  daughters,  as 
she  had  forever  forfeited  their  esteem  by 
that  one  crowning  act  of  a  life  of  dishonor 

THEFT. 


THE     END. 


(ft 


■Hi»i^ 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
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